


Ink (Thicker than Blood)

by bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies



Series: Ink and Water [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Body Dysphoria, Child Abuse, Found Family, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Keith walked in looking for a job and ended up with 5 new dads, M/M, Neglect, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pregnancy Scares, Recovery, References to Drugs, Scars, Tattoos, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), Transphobia, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, chapters will be tagged with chapter-specific warnings, did I mention found family? HELLA found family, it takes him longer than they'd like to figure that out though, it took us a long time to get here but HAPPY ENDING, like there is dub-con but only in CERTAIN chapters and I'll let you know, moments of fluff and comfort and happiness mixed in with the angst, oh yeah btw the underage/non-con stopped around chapter 9 just so you know, the Blades have Keith's back no matter what, this boy needs a goddamn hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies/pseuds/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies
Summary: Kolivan himself was manning the front desk of the studio when the boy walked in.  It was a slow day, and he was actually getting engrossed in a novel when he heard the jingle of the bells hung on the door that signaled someone entering the shop.  Kolivan looked up and saw a young boy, likely only in his teens, walk into the shop with his hands in the pockets of his faded red zip-up hoodie.  The kid -- he really was a kid, Kolivan should have asked him to leave right then and there -- had overgrown black hair that fell into his dark, guarded eyes and curled up where it hit his shoulders.  There was a hole in his black jeans that looked like it had come from wear, rather than been placed there for aesthetic purposes, and his beat-up converse shoes had definitely seen better days.“Can I help you?”  Kolivan wondered if he was lost.  He struggled to remember if the local high schools were on break yet.  Was this kid supposed to be in school?“Hope so.”  The kid came to stand in front of the reception desk.  “I saw your sign in the window.  I’d like to apply for the job.”(Please mind the tags before reading.  This story will deal with some heavy stuff)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please mind the tags before you read, and note that although the focus of this story is on found family between Keith and the Blade of Marmora members, there is also an unhealthy relationship between Sendak and Keith, who is a minor at the beginning of the story. This story will be a pretty even split between hurt and comfort, but the hurt is some very sensitive stuff, so take care of yourself and don't read if it'll make you uncomfortable.
> 
> If any of the things this is tagged with make you a bit apprehensive, don’t worry -- each chapter will have it’s own chapter-specific warnings in the author’s note. To get even more specific, I’ll even tell you what _part_ of the chapter the warning applies to. “Parts” meaning the sections divided by tildes/wave-dash (these things: ~~~~~ (idk why I know what they’re called in Spanish and Japanese yet not in my own first language wtf))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes in for a job and winds up with five new dads.
> 
>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** Implied, but not exactly shown, child neglect/financial abuse at the end of part 1 and the end of part 2.

Kolivan himself was manning the front desk when the boy walked in.  It was a slow day, and he was actually getting engrossed in a novel when he heard the jingle of the bells hung on the door that signaled someone entering the shop.  Kolivan looked up and saw a young boy, likely only in his mid-to-lower-end-of-late teens, walk into the shop with his hands in the pockets of his faded red zip-up hoodie.  The kid -- he really was a kid, Kolivan should have asked him to leave right then and there -- had overgrown black hair that fell into his dark, guarded eyes and curled up where it hit his shoulders.  There was a hole in his black jeans that looked like it had come from wear, rather than been placed there for aesthetic purposes, and his beat-up converse shoes had definitely seen better days.

“Can I help you?”  Kolivan wondered if he was lost.  He struggled to remember if the local high schools were on break yet.  Was this kid supposed to be in school?

“Hope so.”  The kid came to stand in front of the reception desk.  “I saw your sign in the window. I’d like to apply for the job.”  

Kolivan’s gaze slid over the kid’s shoulder to read the reverse side of the _“HELP WANTED:  APPLY INSIDE”_ sign propped up in the front window beside some of their designs and a t-shirt bearing the parlor’s logo in the corner.  The Blade of Marmora was undeniably a tattoo parlor, and looked every part of it. Dark walls and tile floors, a bit aged but immaculately clean, tattooing chairs covered in plastic for safety, glass cases displaying piercings and jewelry, and sketches and photos of tattoos showcasing their work displayed all over the shop.  Plus, of course, the prominently-displayed, purple neon _Blade of Marmora Ink & Piercings _sign over the front of the building.    

Kolivan looked at the kid again.  “How old are you?” He asked.

“Twenty.”  

Right.  And Kolivan was thirty.  “I’ll need to see some ID.”  

The kid dug a wallet out of his pocket and handed over a slim rectangular card.  To his credit, he maintained eye contact as he handed it over and didn’t have any overt signs he was being untruthful.  But Kolivan could tell from the moment he saw the card that it was fake.  He certainly had enough experience looking. Just to be certain, though, he tilted the card and scrutinized the information and photo.  At the very least, it was a picture of the same kid. But that didn’t make it legit.

He set the card down on the desk, but didn’t slide it back to him just yet.  “True cards in this state have a holographic sign of the state seal printed over the photograph.”  He told him bluntly. “Also, the card is horizontal, indicating a person of twenty-one years or older.  You can’t possibly be twenty and have a card of this orientation.”

The kid’s eyes widened and his expression went slack as he was caught.  

Kolivan regarded him evenly.  “Now, if you can produce a legitimate form of ID, or tell me why you were lying about your age, then I will consider not turning you over to the cops.”  There was next to nothing this kid could say that would convince Kolivan to let him apply for the position, after this. But he was at least curious about his motive for trying to get a job here in particular.  

The kid -- Keith, the ID read, but Kolivan wouldn’t bet money on that being real either -- shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets again, looking away.  “I just need a job. I need money.”

“For what?”  Kolivan asked dryly.  Drugs? Booze?

“Food.”  The kid said.  “Apartment. A coat would be nice.  You know, whatever the hell a person needs to survive.”

“And where are your parents?”  

The kid let out a derisive snort.  “Dead. And the foster ones ain’t much better.”  He looked away, and Kolivan was struck by how fatigued the boy looked despite his age.  Like he had the weight of more years on his shoulders than he had under his belt. “I’m seventeen, alright?  Yeah, I’m a minor. But I’m over sixteen -- I’m old enough to work. And I’m gonna get kicked to the street the moment I turn eighteen.  I’m starting to think they’re serious about that.” His voice softened, sounding achingly raw for a moment. “I just want to be ready, when it happens.”

Kolivan took a slow, deep breath through his nose and released it as he considered what had been said.  He was beginning to think he might eat his own words about there being next to nothing that would get him to consider hearing this boy out after being lied to.  

Kolivan spun the ID card around and tapped it.  “Tell me what on here is true, if anything.”

“Everything except the birth year.”  The kid replied. “My name really is Keith Kogane.  Birthday is October twenty-third, just the year is wrong.  That’s the address of my foster family. Height is correct, weight is… probably a little higher than I am, actually, but I haven’t checked it in years so I don’t know.  Black hair, blue eyes because they didn’t let me put purple. I guess I’m not actually a registered organ donor, but it’s not like I’d mind. I don’t care what they do with my body once I’m dead.”  He shrugged.

Kolivan scanned his face, but got the sense he was telling the truth.  There was still one thing that bothered him, thought. “Are you really seventeen?”  He asked. “I’d put you at fifteen, honestly. And I could get in trouble for that. So I need you to be honest with me.”  

Keith’s hard, guarded mask flickered for a moment and Kolivan saw a flash of something like regret.  He quickly schooled his expression back to neutral again and looked up at Kolivan, meeting his eyes. “I’m seventeen.  I just… I look younger than I am.” He swallowed and cast his eyes away once more. “Can’t really make enough testosterone on my own to look how I’m supposed to.”  He added quietly.

Ah, that explained the lack of even the smallest sign of facial hair.  Kolivan nodded, understanding. “Well, there is no way I would ever be legally able to hire a minor to be an artist or piercer here.”  As Keith’s shoulders sank, Kolivan went on. “You’re lucky the position we have open is for a receptionist. I see no reason why a young man of seventeen years can’t answer the phone and make appointments.”

Keith’s head snapped up and his mouth dropped open in surprise.  “You… really?”

“On two conditions.”  Kolivan held up two fingers.  “One: you must be honest with us.  No more of this fake ID bullshit.” He fought back the urge to smirk at Keith’s shocked expression (people seemed to forget that forty-three year-olds could swear just as well as the young folk).  “And two: is it safe to assume you dropped out of school?” Given that it was the middle of a weekday and Keith was here, it seemed more than likely. When Keith nodded, he went on. “Then you must work towards getting your GED.  There are plenty of slow hours here during the middle of the day. Anytime you are not helping with clients or cleaning, I want you to be studying. I do not employ illiterate delinquents.”

“Wha-- I’m not illiterate, or a delinquent!”  Keith protested.

“Says the boy with a fake ID from the state of ‘Californa’.”  Kolivan tapped the misspelling pointedly. “And if you can’t scrounge up ten dollars for a real ID at the DMV, then I suggest you use your first paycheck on it.  I need that on file.”

Keith’s expression clouded and his mouth twisted into a thin line.  “They won’t print it right.” He groused, glaring down at the fake ID.  

Kolivan was confused for a moment, then noticed his thumb moving over the ‘M’ written next to ‘sex’.  He softened his tone. “If you want the healthcare I provide my employees with, then I need a valid ID on file.  No one has to look at it.” He told him. “And we have an endocrinologist in network. An artist who used to work here during her transition was able to use them with no problem.  A couple paychecks in and you should have no trouble getting whatever you need.”

Keith was quiet for a moment as he considered it, then sighed out “...fine.”  

Kolivan nodded, satisfied with that response.  “Good. Can you start tomorrow at noon?”

Keith looked up, determination shining in his eyes.  “Yes, sir.”

“Then, welcome to the Blade of Marmora, Keith.”  Kolivan held out his hand, and Keith eagerly clasped it.  

~~~~~~~

Having Keith come by at noon the next day gave Kolivan time to brief the rest of his staff about their newest addition and his situation.  Regris was thrilled to no longer be the youngest. Thace, who had a ten year-old son of his own, was shocked to learn Keith had dropped out of school and asserted that he would provide the GED textbooks if Keith could not afford them.  Ulaz, their piercing and body mod specialist and the person who had been in charge of picking their healthcare plan in the first place (Kolivan couldn’t make heads or tails of the different plans and policies, so he had left it in his care) said that he would help Keith with any questions he had about the various doctors needed for any transition steps he wanted to take.  Ulaz knew a fair amount about health, having gone to a couple of years of medical school before he was deemed “too alternative-looking” and was told to ditch the piercings or find a new career. He did the latter, and used his medical knowledge to his advantage doing body modifications that other artists found too difficult, as well as carving out a niche for himself tattooing over scar tissue.

Antok maintained that they should give Keith a tattoo to induct him -- as “withstanding the pain” would be a worthy trial to join their ranks -- but Thace reminded him they couldn’t legally _give_ a minor a tattoo.  Ulaz pointed out helpfully that they could give him a piercing instead, so long as it wasn’t a genital or nipple piercing.  Kolivan pinched his brow and reminded them that the rest of them hadn’t even _met_ the boy yet, could they please calm down a bit?  

He tried his best to break the group up before noon -- used his barely-there master authority over Regris to make him practice his shading, told Ulaz to clean the equipment in the back, delegated the tedious monthly paperwork to Antok, and instructed Thace to go on a coffee run, but the damn man dithered around so much that he never ended up leaving before Keith arrived (likely on purpose).  

The boy showed up right at noon on the dot, which at the very least reassured Kolivan that his delinquency did not extend to his punctuality.  Try as he might to break up his team ahead of time, the moment the bells over the door jingled, all eyes snapped over to get a look at the newest, youngest member of their shop.  Keith looked a little startled to find everyone staring at him before he had even stepped over the threshold, but to his credit, he lifted his chin and gave them all a cursory glance before turning his eyes to Kolivan.  “Didn’t realize I’d have such an audience, first day on the job.” He said mildly.

“It is a small shop, and they are very nosy.”  Kolivan tossed his team a stern look. “They’re all supposed to be working.”  

“I’m on my lunch break.”  Thace pointed out.

“And yet, you’re still here.”  Kolivan replied. He turned back to Keith.  “I suppose I’ll do the introductions, since everyone is here.  I am Kolivan, owner of this shop and master tattoo artist. Nearly everyone here has completed their apprenticeship under my supervision.  The exception is Antok, who was an apprentice alongside me at Daibazaal Ink.” He gestured to Antok. The larger man was seated at the counter on a stool that looked far too small for him, file folder in his hand (he was _supposed_ to be in the office, but given the excitement of the day, he seemed to have moved his paperwork out onto the floor of the shop).  Antok slipped his reading glasses off and sized up the boy in front of him like a wolf might a weasel -- clearly determining he would have the upper hand in a fight, but acknowledging the weasel might get a few good bites in too.

Kolivan moved on.  “Then there is Thace, another senior tattoo artist here.”

“Not as senior as you, old man.”  Thace cocked a grin. “Pleasure to meet you, Keith.  Don’t let the rest of these guys intimidate you too much -- they’re all much nicer than they look.”  

“I look perfectly nice.”  Regris huffed and crossed his arms.  

“You have a split tongue, dermals up your arms, black nail polish, and you look like you walked off the cover of Goth Magazine.”  Thace told him flatly.

“That’s _punk_ , not goth.”  Regris pointed at him.  His voice had a very slight hissing quality to it, given the aforementioned split tongue.  “There’s a _difference_.”  

Kolivan cleared his throat to call their attention back.  “Ulaz over there is our resident piercing and body modification specialist, in addition to being a tattoo artist.”  He gestured to the mohawked man, who lifted a set of pliers he had been sterilizing and waved them in greeting. “And the self-described _punk_ in the corner over there is Regris, my current apprentice.”  

“And who is no longer the youngest person in the shop.”  Regris spun his pencil between his fingers effortlessly, lip ring flashing in the light as he smirked.  

“You’re still the youngest artist here, punk.”  Antok fired back. “Careful how you speak to your elders, or you’ll be cleaning equipment for weeks.”

“Been doing that for four years, big man, don’t you threaten me.”  Regris stuck out his tongue, and showing off the fact that it really _was_ split in two.

“...with a good time.”  Keith muttered under his breath with a quiet snort.  

Kolivan couldn’t make sense of that, but Regris’s head whipped around so fast it looked like it might fall off, and he grinned and shot the kid a double thumbs up.  “Good taste in music, Mister New Meat.”

Keith cracked a genuine smile at that, the first Kolivan had seen from him.  The others looked at Kolivan quizzically, but the older man just shrugged it off.  At least the kids could place nice, it seemed.

“When you youngsters are finished, Keith, follow me so I can explain your work.”  He beckoned him over to the front desk, and Keith followed him immediately. The rest of them went back to their tasks, Regris humming something while he sketched that made Keith chuckle quietly and glance back at him.  

Kolivan laid a hand on the front desk, where he had first met Keith.  “Traditionally, new employees are tasked with cleaning equipment and dealing with customers.  Given your age, however, I’d rather you not touch the equipment at all, at least until you learn what it is and _how_ to properly clean it.”  

“I think I can handle a few sharp needles.”  Keith told him flatly. “I’m not stupid.”

“It is more a legal issue than a question of your intelligence.”  Kolivan replied. “I’m already breaking tradition by letting you in the door, let alone employing you.  I will not break the actual law. Besides, am I correct in assuming you know little to none about tattoos or piercings?”  

Keith deflated slightly, but still held his ground.  “...closer to none, yeah.” He admitted.

“That is perhaps unusual, but for a receptionist, we can work with that.”  Kolivan gathered up several laminated sheets of paper and handed the stack to Keith.  “However, clients will expect you to have a basic understanding of these things, at the very least to answer questions about prices and availability.  In time you will no doubt learn them through experience and practice, but for the meantime, you may consult these cheat sheets for pricing estimates, and don’t hesitate to ask any of us for assistance.”  After explaining each sheet in depth, Kolivan brought him over to the case of piercings on display and went over the name and placement of each one.

In the middle of an explanation about the many types of piercings for different parts of the ear, the door let out a cheery jingle as a client came in for their first afternoon appointment.  Thace hurried over to the front desk to greet the client and get them checked in, while Keith watched the process raptly from across the room. Kolivan didn’t mind pausing his own explanation; he knew it was best to learn by observing and experiencing, after all.  After the client had been checked in, had all the forms and waivers signed, and was settled in Antok’s chair chatting amiably with the man who had done half of his sleeve so far, Kolivan brought Keith back to the office to sign paperwork of his own and make him officially an employee of the Blade of Marmora studio.  

“Legally, I can only give you part-time status and pay until you turn eighteen.”  Kolivan told him as he slid a stack of stapled forms across the desk. “Is that alright with you?”

Keith’s shoulders sank at that.  “So I can’t work full-time?”

“Unfortunately, no.”  Kolivan wished he could, knowing the boy’s goal to make enough money to support himself when he turned eighteen.  But his hands were tied. It was already considered atypical to _pay_ new employees to their studio, and Kolivan was only circumventing that by bringing Keith on as a designated receptionist, rather than an apprentice.  

Keith was quiet for a moment, visibly turning over the options in his head.  Kolivan didn’t rush him -- taking a job in a field he had no experience in was a lot to consider, after all.  But then, Keith nodded once to himself and pulled the papers toward him to begin reading through them and signing where he needed to.  When they got to the forms about payment of wages and setting up a direct deposit, though, Keith faltered.

“I… I don’t have a bank account.”  He seemed to have realized this for the first time.  

Kolivan regarded him evenly.  “Would you be able to open one?”

Keith’s lips tightened into a thin line as he thought about it.  “I bet the bank won’t let me do it myself. But if I get _them_ to help…” he stiffened, and Kolivan got the sense he was talking about his foster family.  “I’ll… I bet I’ll never see that money again.” He said quietly.

Well, that complicated things immensely.  But there really was little Kolivan could do, with what little he knew.

Kolivan sat back in his chair, turning his attention away from the paperwork for a moment.  “Keith. If you wouldn’t mind, could you tell me a little more about your situation? It will be hard to come up with a solution to this bank account problem, if I am ill-informed.  But of course, tell me only what you are comfortable with.” After all, when Kolivan was his age, there had been a fair amount he wouldn’t have been comfortable sharing with a near stranger.

Keith set the forms down and leaned back with a sigh, looking defeated.  “I mean, look, I’m not looking for a pity party or whatever. I can take care of myself.”  

“Of course.”  Kolivan replied evenly.  The boy was already guarded with hackles raised, just from the one question.  Granted, it was a pretty big question.

Keith was quiet for a moment, gnawing his lip as he thought about it.  When he finally spoke up, he kept his words short and clipped. “My dad died when I was ten.  Never knew my mom. Been in the system for seven years, and it sucks. People only ever want to adopt cute little babies.  No one wants a moody teenager.” He looked away. “The family I’m with now is… okay, I guess. Most of the time. Better than some I’ve had.  But they’ve made it pretty clear that they’ve got too many mouths to feed as it is, and once I turn eighteen, I’m out. Only got four more months with a roof over my head, if you can call it that.”  He crossed his arms, shoulders hunched. “They get an allowance to feed me, from the government. Instead they spend it on booze and shit to smoke. Mostly cigarettes.” He flashed Kolivan a warning look, making it clear that he wouldn’t answer if the older man asked what else they smoked.  They might suck, but he wasn’t about to rat them out for anything overtly illegal. “They go through my stuff, too. I mowed lawns and cleaned pools and shit for a summer, trying to save up for a coat for the winter. They kept skimming off the top, no matter where I hid it. If I asked them to help me make a bank account, they’d either laugh in my face or drain it every payday before I even got home from work.”  He released a tense sigh through his nose and pushed his hands through his hair, frustrated. “This is so unfair. I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I’m basically an adult. Why can’t I just walk into a bank and open an account, without having to have a parent there to sign shit I can sign myself?”

Kolivan said nothing for a few long moments.  “Perhaps… there might be a way…”

~~~~~~~

Kolivan had told Keith he wasn’t going to do anything illegal for him.  This was… dubious at best. So long as they didn’t actually _say_ anything false, though, it should work.  But it wasn’t their fault if anyone made assumptions.  Granted, he and Keith didn’t really _look_ like they were related.  But Kolivan’s hair was quite obviously dyed, since it was shock-white with a hint of lilac that refused to lift from the last dye, so who’s to say it hadn’t been the same dark shade as Keith’s before all that?  

But Kolivan may have played it up just a touch, putting his hand on Keith’s shoulder as they walked through the doors to the bank.  

“Good afternoon.”  He smiled amiably to the teller.  “We’d like to open his first bank account.”  Again, not technically a lie.

The teller seemed to buy it without question.  He got the necessary paperwork together and handed it to Kolivan.  

“I can handle it.”  Keith said easily. Not at all like it was rehearsed.  “I’ll have to do this stuff on my own soon.”

“Very true.”  Kolivan passed him the forms and leaned against the counter casually.  “Any questions, just ask.”

“It’s nice to see a father helping his son with this.”  The teller commented with a smile as Keith started filling out the forms.  Kolivan hummed in what could pass as agreement, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright, everything is all set.”  The teller tapped a few keys on the computer.  “Now you just need to put some money in. We require a minimum balance of fifty dollars to avoid fines.”  

Keith froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.  Kolivan smoothly took out his wallet and passed the teller a fifty dollar bill before Keith’s reaction could blow their cover.  The boy still looked at him with barely concealed alarm.

“Consider it an early birthday present.”  Kolivan told him, since fathers didn’t typically give their sons ‘an advance on your paycheck’ and they didn’t want to arouse suspicion when they were so close to finishing.  Hell, he wouldn’t even mind if it was simply a gift; it was only fifty bucks. He made more than that on one tattoo.

Soon enough, they were leaving the bank with Keith clutching a folder of pamphlets about savings and more official documentation than he had ever had to his own name.  The moment they were back at Kolivan’s car, Keith glanced behind them and dropped the ruse. “I swear I’ll pay you back.”

“If you wish.  But you don’t need to.”  Kolivan rolled his shirtsleeves back up to his elbows to show off his ink again, hidden while he played the part of a responsible parent.  

“I will.  I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case.”  Keith said firmly.

“Alright, then.”  Kolivan would have been a hypocrite to dismiss Keith’s feelings.  Not when he himself remembered how it felt. He started the car and backed up.  “Anyway, I know where you work, now.” He slid the boy a knowing grin.

Keith straightened up slightly, like it was just sinking in that he had a job.  He had a source of income, and a safe place to put that income. “Yeah.” He smiled as he watched the road fly past the window as they drove back to the studio.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** underage drinking (on Keith’s part), implied drug use ( **not** on Keith’s part), Macidus being a creep, and Sendak pretending to be a good dude (all in part 2)
> 
> Part three wasn’t something I originally planned in the story, but I was watching tattoo artists on youtube talk about crazy clients/tattoos they’ve had and I got… inspired. And the story will start getting sad in a couple of chapters so I thought I’d throw some humor in before that. The ol’ set-up-an-ominous-situation-and-then-slap-a-comedy-bandage-over-it-before-it-bleeds-through, if you will.

Keith frowned down at the equations of numbers scratched out on the scrap paper in front of him.  Four months of part-time pay, a handful of tips, minus a bit for necessities and food… There was no way he could afford even a tiny, shitty apartment with what he had, or would have by October.  Not enough to afford anywhere remotely near his job, anyway. And even then, he’d still be wasting a shit ton on bus fares just to get to work. He needed to stay in the city, but he couldn’t afford a place on his own quite yet.  

A loud thump and muffled yelling from somewhere else in the house made him jump.  He closed his eyes and his face shut down as a baby started crying over the yelling.  He was running out of time, he knew it. The house was like a ticking bomb, and it was only a matter of time before they exploded and kicked him to the curb.  

Keith crumpled up the equations and shoved the paper in his pocket.  Not even the trash was safe in this house. He grabbed his wallet, made sure his fake ID and enough cash for some beers was inside, and then slipped out the window.  

~~~~~~~

It was shockingly easy to get into the bar.  It turned out the guy with sleeve tats checking IDs recognized him from Kolivan’s shop, and barely gave his ID a cursory glance as he greeted him.  He must have assumed if he was working in a tattoo parlor, he must have been a “real adult”, and Keith wasn’t in a position to refute him. After a few careful compliments about his latest piece and a promise to “say hi to the Kolivan and boys at the studio for me”, Keith was inside the door and making a beeline for the bar.  There was some kind of live music night event going on, and a fair number of people were out in the center of the floor trying to turn the place into a club, it looked like. Plenty of people dancing with cups of amber liquid in one hand and their partner’s waist or ass in the other.

Now came the hard part.  Keith had never really considered himself particularly socially adept.  There were probably a lot of other people would agree with that. He didn’t really like connecting with people for the sole sake of connecting, much preferring the friendship to grow organically based on mutual interests.  He couldn’t flirt if his life depended on it. But, he thought as he clenched his jaw and headed into the fray, if he didn’t get moving and figure something out, his livelihood might _actually_ be in danger.  

He had just paid for a beer and been handed the bottle when a smack on the ass nearly sent it flying out of his hand.  Keith whipped around, hackles already raised, and found a guy who looked to be a good forty years older than him standing behind him, leering at him with two shot glasses in his hand.  “Hey sexy, want a free shot?” His teeth were yellowed and discolored, his eyes were bloodshot, and his gray hair was pulled into a greasy ponytail. He had a few shoddy tattoos up and down his skinny arms, but not enough to hide the bruised track marks inside his elbows.  

Keith might be new to this, but he wasn’t stupid.  “I’m good, thanks.” He lifted his own beer in explanation.  

“Come on, it’s free.”  The guy said, sliding closer.  Tall, freaky grease-ball druggie, Keith thought with a grimace.  

“I literally just got this one, man.  Lay off.” Keith told him coldly.

“Then I’ll just have to wait til you’re done and try again.”  The guy set one of the shots on the bar next to Keith’s hand and squeezed himself in to stand next to him.  He smelled like cigarettes and unwashed armpit. “I’m Macidus, by the way. What’s your name? Or can I just keep calling you sexy?”  

“I’d rather you didn’t call me anything, and buzzed off.”  Keith told him.

“Sexy it is, then.”  Macidus grinned, undeterred.  

“Dude, I said fuck off.  I’m not interested.” Keith snapped.  

“You will be.”  The way Macidus was eyeing him up made Keith’s skin crawl.  “You just need to chill out, sexy. Loosen up. Have a drink.”  He nudged the shot glass closer.

Keith didn’t even have to ask what was in it.  He’d bet his next paycheck it wasn’t _just_ alcohol.  

Telling him to piss off didn’t seem to be working, so Keith tried just ignoring him.  He took a swig of his beer and turned away from Macidus, looking down the rest of the bar.  He locked eyes with a huge, burly man with a leather jacket, but before Keith could even think of smiling at him, a bony hand grabbed his ass and squeezed him hard enough to make him jump.  “Hey kid, I was _talking_ to you--”

Keith rounded on him, teeth bared.  “And I told you I’m _not interested_.  Piss off!”  

Macidus made a grab for his shoulder, but Keith ducked and stepped back.  Right into something very tall and solid.

“He made it pretty clear he’s not interested.”  A deep voice said over him as large hands settled on his shoulders.  Just bracing him, not holding him in place. “Or are you too high off your ass to hear anything, old man?”

Macidus glared up at him, fuming.  Apparently, he wasn’t so delusional that he thought he -- a skinny druggie -- could possibly take on a guy who looked like he could pick up cars for fun.  He turned on his heel and snatched the untouched shot glass off the bar.

Keith’s savior plucked the glass out of his hand.  “I think you’re done with that. Might want to dump that out.”  He said the last part to the bartender, who looked a few rude words away from kicking Macidus out.  

The skeezeball slunk away into the crowd, and Keith turned around to see who had helped him.  It was the leather jacket guy from before. “Surprised someone like that was even allowed in.”  The man said, and Keith chose not to point out that their door security wasn’t the strictest. The guy smiled down at him.  “You okay there, man?”

“Yeah.  Thanks for the help.”  Keith went to take another swig of his beer to calm his nerves, but the bottle was empty.  Leather jacket guy seemed to notice.

“Name’s Sendak.  Can I buy you a drink?”  He was already waving down the bartender, but Keith figured it was for himself too.  

“Keith.  And yeah, I could use one, after that.”  He curled his hand into a fist against the bartop to stop the slight tremor there.  A drink would do him good.

Sendak ordered them a couple of beers, then leaned against the counter and turned back to Keith.  “I hate creeps like that. Glad I could help.” Sendak took the beers when they came and passed one to Keith.  “I haven’t seen you around here much.” Sendak commented.

“I don’t really go out much.”  Keith replied simply. He didn’t like the bar scene, and there was always a risk of someone checking his ID a little too closely.  

“Boyfriend got you on a tight leash, huh?”

Keith snorted derisively.  “I’m single. Just not real into bars.”  

“Can’t imagine why.”  Sendak looked over his shoulder at the crowd of people dancing and grinding to the too-loud music.  He turned back to Keith. “So then you must be out looking for something specific.”

Keith cast him a steely look out of the sides of his eyes.  “Not that kind of specific.” He didn’t like the insinuation in his tone, that Keith was just looking for someone to sleep with.

Sendak chuckled and held up his hands in mock surrender.  “I get it, I get it.” He took a swig of his beer. “Anyway, you can’t trust sluts who put out as soon as they meet someone.”  

The words grated on Keith.  But at least it seemed like Sendak wouldn’t expect sex out of him tonight, even if they did talk more.

They made mindless small talk about the cooling weather and the brand of beer they had been served, then Keith asked what Sendak did for a living.  He looked a little too old to be a college student, maybe late-twenties or perhaps thirty.

“I work in pharmaceuticals.”  Sendak replied.

“So you sell drugs?”  Keith eyed him carefully.  Other than the leather jacket, he didn’t look the type.  But a lot of people wore leather jackets.

Sendak laughed.  “Only those approved by the FDA.  I work at an actual pharmacy, on the university medical campus.  Got my degree in pharmacology and everything.”

“Hard to picture you in a white lab coat.”  Keith looked him up and down. He was certainly nice to look at.

“It’s not my best look.”  Sendak adjusted his leather jacket with a cocky smirk, the studs along the sleeves flashing in the multicolored lights.  “But it pays the bills, you know.” He took a swig of his drink. “How about you?”

“I work in a tattoo parlor.”  Keith replied.

Sendak paused and looked at him, his gaze travelling up and down the length of his body and seeking out any exposed skin.  “You do not.” He sounded like he didn’t buy it for a minute.

“Just ‘cause I work there doesn’t mean I have to be all inked up.”  Keith defended. Sendak didn’t need to know it was because he wasn’t old enough to get a tattoo, and his boss was a stickler for rules despite the culture of their shop being that employees showed off their own and each other’s art.  

Keith reached up and flicked his earlobe, showing off the dark red stone set into black matte metal stud that decorated each side.  “My buddy did these at work. This one, too.” He stuck out his tongue to show the stud that Regris was technically not supposed to have done on him, despite Keith’s insistence.  But Ulaz wouldn’t do anything other than his ears until he turned eighteen, and Regris had been moaning about not having any real skin to practice on. Kolivan had yelled at them both ( _actually_ yelled, it was the only time Keith had seen him actually get angry), but there wasn’t much he could do after the fact besides assign Regris the shittiest cleaning detail, threaten him with a longer apprenticeship to “learn from his mistakes”, and thrust a bottle of salt-water cleaning solution at Keith with strict instructions to clean it, because he was _not_ risking an infection on an under-the-table-piercing, not in his shop.  But Regris knew what he was doing, the piercing had healed up just fine, and eventually Kolivan had forgiven them.  

Sendak eyed him with undisguised interest as Keith pulled his tongue back into his mouth.  “Very nice…”

Something about the way he was looking at him made the back of his spine tingle.  But at the same time, a warmth bloomed in his chest and he couldn’t help but straighten a little.  It felt good, to feel desired.

“So, that all you got?”  Sendak asked, gaze sliding lower.  

“For now.”  Keith set his beer down to point.  “I’m planning on getting a helix next.  Maybe a septum. Definitely an industrial over here.  Collarbone dermals look sweet as hell, but ugh, lotta maintenance for those ones.  Still debating how much I want them.”

“You sure do know your stuff.”  Sendak nodded appraisingly.

“What, you thought I was lying?”  Keith scoffed.

“You just don’t look like the type to work in a tattoo shop.”  Sendak chuckled.

“And what kind of guy _do_ I look like, then?”  Keith asked him.

A slow grin spread over his lips and he reached for the pen the bartender had left on the counter.  “You look like the type of guy I’d like to meet up with for coffee sometime.” He scrawled a number on a paper napkin and slid it toward Keith.  

Keith flashed him a smile as he accepted it.

~~~~~~~

Keith was alone in the front of the shop when the bells over the door rang.  He looked up and found a woman striding toward the front desk as she pulled off her sunglasses, heels clicking against the tile floors.  

“Hey hon, do y’all take walk-ins?”  The woman asked.

“Um, it depends on who is free and for how long…” Keith reached for the schedule and checked it.  Regris was in the back with Ulaz learning how to do dermal piercings, Thace had the day off, Antok wouldn’t be here for another hour, and Kolivan was doing paperwork in the back office, but he had said Keith could grab him at any time.  Keith pulled out a notepad and a pen and turned back to the woman, trying to remember all the questions Kolivan had taught him. “Do you have an idea for a design?” He asked.

“Oh yes, it’s real easy.”  The woman said. “Just a simple outline of a star, maybe about this big?”  She held her fingers a couple of inches apart. “I can even pick one of the little flashes on the wall over there if you need, but it’s just a plain ol’ five-pointed star.”  

That sounded doable, and didn’t seem like it would take long.  “I think we can do that.” He jotted that down. “So just an outline?  In black? Or did you want color as well?”

“Hmm, I don’t suppose y’all have gold ink?”

“Uh, no…”

She waved a hand.  “Yellow won’t look good if I get a tan.  Just the outline in black, then. How much would that be?”  

Keith quickly consulted his pricing estimates list and gave her a price range.  It sounded fairly simple, so he kept it on the lower end.

“Sounds perfect!”  The woman clapped. “I can already picture it -- a star, for a star like me!”  

Uh, okay… Keith had heard from the others that the occasional weirdo came into the shop, so he couldn’t be surprised he was finally seeing that in action.  Following their advice, he just ignored it. “I just need to double-check with the artist who’s here. Can I have your name?”

She giggled.  “You mean you don’t recognize me?”  

Keith paused to really look at her.  Blonde, but he could see a hint of dark roots that were a sure sign it was dyed.  All done up in make-up, hair big and styled. Leaning on the counter in a way that accentuated her already busty chest.  

“Sorry, no.”  Keith tried to be as polite as possible.  

She winked at him like she thought he was lying or playing dumb, then told him a name and added, “but others know me as Sunny Days.”  

Still not ringing a bell, but Keith wasn't exactly well-versed in celebrities, major or minor.  It sounded made-up, honestly.  But, oh well, not his problem… Keith wrote her actual name down and picked up the notepad.  “One moment, I’m going to grab the artist.”

“Okay!  I’ll head on back there.”  She waved at him and took off for the back workroom before Keith could stop her and remind her that they didn’t quite have a deal yet.  Oh well. He was pretty sure Kolivan would take the easy job, and if not, he could kick her out of the chair himself.

Shaking his head to clear it of the cloying perfume the woman had tracked in with her, Keith headed to the office and knocked on the ajar door before poking his head in.  “There’s a walk-in who wants a simple star outline in black, about two inches across. Are you free?”

Kolivan took off his reading glasses and set the paperwork aside.  “How much?”

“My guess is like thirty to forty bucks, but you’re the expert.”  Keith shrugged.

“That sounds reasonable.  Shouldn’t take long.” Kolivan nodded and stood up.  As they left the office, they saw that Ulaz and Regris had finished up with their client and were doing the payment transaction at the front desk.  

“Let Regris handle the front for a bit.”  Kolivan beckoned Keith to follow. “You can observe me, so you better understand the process.”  

Keith nodded and followed him into the back workroom where the woman was already waiting, standing with her hip cocked and looking up at a photo of a detailed back tat that Antok had done a few years ago and was quite proud of.  

Kolivan eased the door shut as he greeted her.  “Good morning, I understand you’d like a star outline tattoo?”  

“Yes.”  She smiled brightly.  “I think it will be very fitting for me.”  

Again, her tone indicated that she thought they ought to know who she was, but neither knew her.  But Kolivan had more than enough experience with unusual clients, so he brushed it off. “My assistant here will be observing me work today, is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course, that’s fine.”  She waved a hand. “I don’t mind at all.”  

They went through the preliminary discussion of sobriety, recent health, proclivity to fainting, and so on with no trouble, got the waivers filled out, then Kolivan turned away to wash his hands and put gloves on while Keith fetched a disposable razor from the box on the counter.  When they turned back, the woman was unbuttoning her pants.

“Ma’am--” Kolivan cleared his throat.  “What are you doing?”

“Oh, I thought we were starting.”  She said, confused.

Keith froze, razor in hand, and suddenly realized one very important question he had forgotten to ask.  Kolivan seemed to realize it at the same time.

“Where were you looking to get this done?”  He asked carefully.

“Oh, well,” the woman batted her eyes.  “I’m a bit of a star online, if you know what I mean.  They call me the anal star, so I was thinking it could be around my--”

“Stop.”  Kolivan held up a hand to cut her off, while Keith went bright red and his thoughts screeched to a halt.  “Keith. Out.”

The woman looked crestfallen.  “You won’t do it?”

“I will, but I’m afraid I must raise the price from what my assistant told you, due to the difficulty of the location, and I must send him out of the room.”  Kolivan said tightly. “Keith, go get Regris. Or Ulaz. Anyone who is over eighteen.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t realize.”  The woman laughed, looking remarkably unbothered.  “Sorry about that, hon! Even though I’m _sure_ you’re no stranger to seeing things like that online, I know what teens get up to on the internet...”  She winked slyly.

Kolivan plucked the razor out of Keith’s hand, who had short-circuited at the implication and out of sheer embarrassment at his critical mistake.  As Kolivan ushered him toward the door, he hissed a warning at him. “ _Always. Ask. The location._ ”  

“Sorry.”  Keith managed to squeak.  Still reeling from this revelation -- was it even _possible_ to tattoo… _there??_ \-- Keith left the room and shut the door behind him, cutting off Kolivan’s voice re-negotiating the price.  

He felt like he was in a shell-shocked daze as he made his way across the floor to where Regris was chilling at the counter on his phone.  The apprentice lifted his head and took one look at Keith’s expression and the closed door he had come from. “Uh oh. Ass, pussy, or tits?”  He asked, somehow already knowing.

“Ass...hole…” Keith felt himself flush harder.   _How??_ **_Why??_ ** He couldn’t imagine _any_ of those being tattooed!

Regris groaned and slumped over the counter.  “Nooo, that means I’m on spread-and-hold duty.”  

That was it, Keith had died and his soul had left his body.  “Sp--?!”

“Regris!”  Kolivan called sharply from the back, and Regris groaned as he picked himself up.  

“I always hate these ones…” He muttered, and Keith stared at him in abject horror.  He had done this before? Just how many people were tattooing their assholes??

Once Keith managed to collect himself, he grabbed the stack of post-it notes and wrote himself a checklist -- _Req’ed artist.  Design. Size. Black/gray or color.  LOCATION_ \-- and underlined that last word twice.  Then he tore the note off and stuck it to the edge of the desk, right next to the scheduling book and phone.  He would _not_ be making that mistake again.

Approximately an hour later, the back room door opened and the woman strode out, looking quite pleased with herself.  Kolivan was behind her, stone-faced and his mouth set slightly more grimly than usual. Regris slunk out after him, looking haunted, and only grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and another bottle of air freshener from under the desk before retreating back to the room they had all just left.  

Keith kept his eyes fixed on the register as he entered the price Kolivan gave him -- _quite_ a bit more than his earlier estimate -- and ran her credit card.  She walked out a few minutes later with only the smallest sign of discomfort in her step, humming cheerily to herself.  

As soon as the door closed, Keith turned to Kolivan, who was eyeing the new post-it note with a wry curve to his grimace.  

“So… people really… uh, do that?”  Keith asked.

“Work in the porn industry?  Yes.” Kolivan replied frankly.  “Come in wanting tattoos around their anus?  More often than you might think.” He tapped Keith’s new note.  “Take care to remember that.”

“Yes sir.”  Keith looked studiously down at the desk, mortified.  When they said he would learn something new every day on the job, he didn’t think _that_ would be one of them…   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah. So, apparently that’s a thing people do. _*shudders*_ The things I learn in researching for this fic…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you guys enjoyed the previous chapter, cuz here comes some Angst™
> 
>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** misgendering/verbal abuse and physical abuse (on the part of the unnamed OC foster parent, in part 2)

As August crept by and the nights grew just a touch cooler, Keith felt like he had a little warm sun glowing brightly in his chest.  He had a job, he was learning new things about the industry every day, and was spending his lunch breaks and days off with Sendak. He didn’t know if they were “dating” per se, and he was a little afraid to ask outright; he didn’t want to come off as juvenile or childish, like some hair-twirling teen in a Lifetime movie asking “ _sooo… are we, like, going steady, or what?_ ”  He figured a mark of maturity was that it would be something one just _knew_. 

It certainly _felt_ like they were dating.  They met up for coffee or lunch, caught a couple movies together at the dollar theater… they went out to bars once or twice, but it seemed like Sendak preferred to just buy a six-pack at the liquor store and drink at home or in his car.  Keith was secretly glad, because anytime he used his fake ID to get in somewhere was a risk of being caught. And he _definitely_ didn’t want Sendak to find that out and leave him.  He really liked the attention he got from Sendak, and the large, warm hand that usually found its way to his back or shoulder whenever Sendak opened the door for him.  It was nice to have someone look at him like he was desirable, even if Sendak’s stares went on just a bit too long for his personal comfort.

Keith was happy.  But he was also beginning to feel the stress of juggling his work, the studies Kolivan insisted he keep up, his boyfriend, and keeping it all a secret from his foster family.  Only a few more months to go, then he could cut his ties with them and say good riddance. He still didn’t have enough to find an apartment on his own, but Sendak had already floated the idea of Keith moving in with him, and that safety net was incredibly reassuring.  And, as it turned out, completely necessary.

He absolutely did not mean to fall asleep at work.  He was tidying the back room after their only client of the afternoon had left, and the chair just looked so comfortable and he was so tired… he was technically on break already, so a short little cat nap wouldn’t hurt, right?  Just five minutes.

The room was windowless and he kept the lights on, but when he woke up, someone had turned them off.  He didn’t know how long it had been, but based on the pain wrapped around his chest from his shitty, five-dollar binder, it had been several hours at least.    

Keith stumbled out of the back workroom, blinking away his confusion.  “What time is it?” He asked, voice scratchy.

“One-thirty.”  Kolivan replied without looking up from assessing Regris’s work.  Keith felt his heart stop as he saw the dark street outside their window.  One-thirty _in the morning_.  

“Why the _fuck_ didn’t anyone wake me?”  Keith hissed, dread settling in his stomach.  

“You were tired.”  Thace pointed out from his place at the front desk -- where _Keith_ was supposed to be -- with a sketchbook in front of him.  “Also, language.” It was a half-hearted attempt; the elder Blades were of the opinion that just because they were a tattoo parlor, that didn’t mean they had to “talk like ruffians”.  

“I have to go.”  Keith grabbed his bag from under the front desk where they kept their stuff.  

“I’ll count you out.”  Kolivan got to his feet to perform his standard check of the register before any employee left at the end of their shift.  He had the utmost trust in them all, but it was just protocol and helped them keep track of their daily finances.

“I need to get back before my foster parents notice I’m gone after curfew and beat my ass into next week.”  Keith hissed. He didn’t like bringing up his home situation, but he really didn’t have time to wait around for Kolivan to count the drawer.  His heart was already pounding as it was, adrenaline yelling at him to _run, run, run!_

Mercifully, Kolivan seemed to understand.  He nodded his permission for Keith to leave.  

~~~~~~~

The house was dark when Keith finally made it back to the house.  Not even the dog next door was barking. He crept around to the side of the house and pushed on the window sill to his shoebox of a room.  

It was locked.  

Biting a curse under his breath, Keith considered his options.  The back door was jammed shut, had been for years. There wasn’t a light on in the house, everyone must be asleep.  The front door was his only choice, now.

Years of experience passing unseen and unheard let him expertly avoid the creaky parts of the steps leading up to the front porch.  Wind whistled through the trees behind him as he pressed his ear to the door and listened for any sounds inside. Hearing nothing, he slid his key in and turned the lock as quietly as he could.  The front room was a mess of boxes, old furniture, and dirty dishes, but that was nothing new. He made it down the hall and nearly to his room before a light turned on and nearly stopped his heart, making him jump out of his skin.  

“And where the fuck have you been?”  

Keith turned around, glaring at the man.  “None of your business.”

“You live in my house, that makes it my business.”  The man spat back. “You can’t just disappear all day and come sneaking back in in the dead of night after sleeping around the streets.”  

“That’s _not_ what I was doing.”  Keith bristled.

“Yeah?  Tell it to the cops, when I turn you in for underage drinking or drugs or whatever the hell you were out doing all night.”  

“I was at _work_.”  Keith snapped.  “I have a job. Unlike you.”  

The man’s eyes widened, and Keith immediately wanted to take the words back as he was backed up against the wall.  “Oh yeah? And who said you could get a job? ‘Cause it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t your mom.”

Keith bit his tongue to keep from saying that that woman was not his mother, just like this man was not his father.  His parents were dead, even the thought of letting this scumbag push himself into their space like he deserved the title was enough to make Keith see red.  

“Well, if you’ve got a job, you can start contributing to the family.”  The man held out his hand. “Come on, cough it up.”

“I don’t have any cash on me.”  Keith told him.

“Then what the fuck you getting paid with, huh?”  The man snarled. “You got a job or not, ya little shit?”

“I have a job with a salary.  A paycheck. It’s not cash under the table.”  Keith barely held himself back from calling him an idiot, or saying he wouldn’t get it because he hadn’t had a job in years.  

“Well look at you, all high and mighty.”  The man sneered. “Little miss grown-up dyke with a _paycheck_ and a flashy job.”  

Keith kept his glare steady, even though he wanted to flinch and snap at the intentional misgendering.  He knew from experience it was a fight he didn’t want to go through. Not when the man was a hair's breadth away from exploding already.  

“Guess you don’t need our help anymore.”  The man stepped back. “And I don’t need ungrateful shits taking up food and space in my house.  Get the fuck out.”

“Fine.”  Keith turned and headed for his room.  

“The fuck you think you’re going?”  A hand grabbed his shoulder roughly.  “The door is that way, bitch.”

“I’m getting my shit, then I’ll leave.”  Keith snapped.

“What shit?  You don’t own shit.”  The man said. “We paid for the clothes on your back.  Everything in that room was ours that we _graciously_ let you borrow, out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“You don’t have a shred of good left in your shriveled heart.”  Keith told him icily. “You drowned it with booze and burned it up with drugs, if it was ever there to begin with.”  

Anger flashed across the man’s face.  Even though he knew the slap was coming, Keith couldn’t do much to defend himself in the narrow hallway with his arm still caught in the man’s vice-like grip.  His head snapped to the side with the force of the hit, and a moment later, hot pain exploded across his right cheek. He was still reeling when hands grabbed him and shoved him down the hall, and he managed to get his feet under him enough to put a few steps between them and run for the door.  

“If I ever catch you ‘round here again, I’ll kill you!”  The man yelled as Keith bolted out the door. He leaped down the steps all at once and ran.  He didn’t doubt that man would make good on his word, even if he had never followed through on anything else in his life.  

His lungs were burning and his ribs were on fire under the cheap binder he had been wearing for far too long.  But he didn’t stop until he was positive no one was following him. Not that that shitbag had the stamina to chase him, but he did have a car.  

Keith slowed to a halt in a park a few neighborhoods away, panting and coughing up what felt like an entire lung.  He reached under his shirt and unhooked the clasps on the side of the binder with shaking, unsteady fingers. Even that didn’t help the burn in his chest and he prayed to whatever higher power might be out there that he hadn’t busted a rib.  

Staggering over to a bench, Keith dropped onto the hard metal with a heavy thud and tried to take stock of himself.  His hands and legs were shaking. His chest felt like he had been hit by a truck. His cheek… Keith touched it gingerly and hissed. It was hot, and burned against the cool air.  If there wasn’t a bruise already, there would be one within an hour or two.

Keith swung his messenger bag around onto his lap and checked the contents, making a mental list of what had been left in his room and was now lost to him.  His shaking fingers reached for the chain around his neck and tugged the necklace out from under his shirt to check that his mother’s military dog-tags -- the only thing he had left of her -- were still there.  

Moving on, he assessed the rest of his belongings.  He had his phone, but no charger. He could borrow one from someone at work, probably.  His wallet, with about seventeen bucks and some odd change, a discount card from his secret grocery store runs, his actual and fake IDs, and a Super Smoothie Hut punch card that Regris had told him to stamp when he did a snack run a few days ago and forgot to give it back.  In the rest of his bag, he had his sketchbook, notebook (he kept his GED prep book at the studio, it was too big to hide from his foster parents), a handful of broken pencils missing erasers, a random captive bead ring piercing that must have fallen into his bag by accident, a spare sweater, and a tattered business card covered in coffee stains at the very bottom of his bag.  

He pulled it out and squinted at the peeling numbers, curious.  It the was the person his case was assigned to at social services.  Or, at least, the person it had been assigned to back when they dropped him off with that family.  Social workers tended to get worn out pretty fast and give up after shuffling through too many failed kids irreparably broken by the system that was supposed to help them.  

Keith flipped the card between his fingers.  He could call them and tell them what had just happened.  That was what he was supposed to do. That’s why they had given him the card.  But what good would it do? Get him involved in a legal battle with police and social workers pretending to care?  Get him plucked up and shipped across the country to a new family for three months before he aged out? Take him away from the life he had scraped together for himself, just for the sake of doing things by someone else’s book?

It wasn’t even a question.  Keith ripped up the card and tossed the pieces in the nearby wire wastebasket, then pulled his sweatshirt around himself and started walking.

~~~~~~~

Kolivan had been worried about Keith’s fate ever since he ran out of the shop late the night before.  But he managed to put his concerns on the back burner and focus on his appointment, a leg sleeve for a long-time regular who had been coming to Kolivan for years.  This piece was quite detailed, but he always welcomed a challenge. Still, it managed to keep his attention until the front door burst open and Keith called out “sorry, sorry, I’m here,” sounding winded.  

Kolivan switched off the needle and looked up.  Keith was indeed nearly ten minutes late. A first, for him.  “Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yeah.”  Keith hurriedly shoved his bag under the front desk and started going through his tasks.  His hair was down and hanging in front of his face, rather than tucked back behind his ears or pulled into a low ponytail like normal.  Still, it wasn’t enough to hide the huge, dark purple bruise staining his cheek. “Miscalculated how long it would take to get here from where I was.  It won’t happen again.”

Thace met his eyes from across the shop.  Kolivan gave him the slightest of head shakes before turning back to his work.  Not with the client here.

A few hours later, the client had left and the next one had called to reschedule due to catching the flu and not wanting to have work done while ill.  Ulaz was in the back with a new client doing a cover-up tattoo over a piece that really illustrated the importance of not tattooing customers when they were intoxicated.  Regris and Antok had opened the shop so they had the afternoon off. Which just left Thace and Kolivan on the floor alone with Keith, who was diligently polishing the glass on the piercing display case.  Perhaps a little too diligently, in fact.

After a look to Thace to tell him he would handle it, Kolivan approached the boy.  “Keith, about last night--”

“I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again.”  Keith didn’t look up, even as he spoke to his boss.  

“You need not apologize, but I do.”  Kolivan said carefully. “I did not consider the unintended consequences that might arise from you staying here longer than your working time.  I am terribly sorry for any trouble our mistake caused you.”

“It’s fine.”  Keith shrugged it off and sprayed more cleaner on the glass.  

Kolivan studied him for a long moment.  The bruise looked even worse up close, and his hair did little to hide it.  He softened his voice. “Did that happen when you got home?”

Keith froze.  His fingers fisted around the paper towel and his eyes closed as his expression shut down.  Did he truly think they hadn’t noticed, before then?

“Yeah.”  He said quietly, opening his eyes with a sigh.  And just like that, he was back to wiping the already-sparkling glass.  “They kicked me out. Said if I had a job, I didn’t need their help anymore.”  

Kolivan’s heart sank and regret settled heavily in his stomach.  “I’m so sorry, Keith--”

“Don’t.”  Keith wadded up the paper towels and grabbed the cleaner as he headed for the trash can in the corner.  “It’s better now, anyway. Won’t have to deal with them anymore. Was gonna happen in a few months, anyway.”  

“Do you need a place to stay?”  Thace asked, brow furrowing with worry.  

Kolivan nodded.  “Indeed. I have a guest room, if you--”

“I’m good, thanks.”  Keith cut him off. “Moved in with my boyfriend.  We were talking about it before, so it all worked out.”  

Thace and Kolivan exchanged a look.  “Your boyfriend?” It was the first they had heard of this.  

“Yeah.  He lives on the other side of town, so it took me a bit longer to get here this morning than I expected.”  Keith explained. “But he’s also right near a bus line, so if I just take one bus earlier than I took today, I should be fine.  No more problems.”

Kolivan thought about it.  He had lived in this city for most of his adult life, and knew the layout quite well.  “Is he a student? At the university?” He asked.

Keith fiddled with the lock on the cleaning cabinet.  Kolivan wondered if it was loose. Or if Keith was deep in thought.  

“He lives over there, yeah.”  Keith said. “A few blocks from University Drive.  That’s where I caught the bus.”

“What stop?”  Kolivan asked.  “The one near the dorms?”  

For some reason, that question had Keith casting a guarded look toward him.  “Why’s that matter?”

“If you take public transportation to get here, we can compensate the cost of your daily commute.”  Kolivan replied evenly. “Company policy. We did the same for Regris when his car broke down last year.”  

Keith blinked, and his hackles lowered.  “Oh. I think it was like, three bucks? I’ll check on my way home and let you know tomorrow.”  

That wasn’t the exact stop.  But Kolivan didn’t want to push him.  “Please do. No need to pay out of your own pocket if you don’t need to.”  

“Yeah.  Thanks.”  Keith turned back to his work.  

“And Keith?”  Kolivan waited until he looked up again.  “Please let me know if you need any help with anything.  A place to stay, a bit of money, a lift after work… anything at all.”  

Keith swallowed and looked away.  “Okay.”

Kolivan couldn’t tell if the boy meant it, or not.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah also by the way, bit of advice: PLEASE don't buy/wear those cheap binders with the hooky clasp things up the side. I know they're cheap, and I know they're the first thing a kid with no money and not much resources (like Keith is in this, and like I was before I learned more about different binder types) will reach for, but you can damage your ribs real bad with them because they don't have an elastic section to allow you to take a deep breath. Take it from someone who still has rib/breathing issues years later, the cheap binders are not worth it in the long run.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konnichi-rei-wa, y'all (new era, same ol' bullshit). Happy golden week, now have some angst. This is the Big Warning chapter (how ironic that it happened to fall on chapter 4, the most unlucky number in Japanese... must have been fate.) 
> 
> **Chapter-specific warnings:** dubious consent, an adult knowingly having sex with a minor, and a bit of transphobic language (all in part 3). The sex itself is not explicitly shown, only the lead-up conversation and the strong implication that it turns into sex after the chapter ends (no, I’m not gonna show any of their times together, I’m just not into that in this particular AU) 
> 
> Also, I want to make it clear that I, the writer, absolutely _**DO NOT**_ endorse or condone underage sex or dubcon or any of that in real life. This is purely for fiction -- as terrible as it sounds, it’s just to provide angst/conflict to the story, as every hurt/comfort story needs the hurt to happen so that the comfort can happen. Personally, though, I literally felt the skin at the back of my head crawl when I was writing this, so clearly I dislike what Sendak does.
> 
> We'll be back to our regularly-scheduled found family fun... soon. Maybe not the next chapter, but there are some fun moments coming eventually.

The bruise took a long time to fade.  

Many clients stared at it (some more subtly than others), but only a few curious clients asked about it or wondered if he had gotten in a fight.  Keith just laughed it off and said “yeah, a fight with gravity and I lost. Fell off my bike. It’s no big deal.” He brushed it off and put on a nice smile, but from the way his shoulders slumped and his face fell when they left, the rest of them knew it bothered him.  When possible, they discreetly asked their clients not to mention it when they went to go pay.

The next day, Keith came to work with foundation smeared over it, a couple shades off from his skin tone.  Thace quietly asked if he was aware there was a difference between foundation and cover-up, and offered to accompany him to the drugstore on their lunch break when Keith admitted with burning ears that he did not know, he just grabbed what was cheap and left the makeup section as quick as possible.  The two of them returned with iced coffees for everyone, and Keith’s skin looked a little more natural. But it couldn’t really hide the full extent of the damage.

None of them brought it up, knowing better than to mention anything that might be painful to Keith.  He acted like he was glad to be rid of his foster family, but Kolivan still caught fleeting glimpses of Keith’s concealed inner turmoil during the quiet moments when he thought he was alone.  He would sometimes pause in what he was doing and frown, gaze vacant, until something snapped him out of it. There were moments when he seemed distracted or like his thoughts were elsewhere. He had never been one to speak about his life outside of work, but even though he was free of his foster family, he was still tight-lipped about his personal life.  Even Regris, who had probably the closest bond with Keith due to their somewhat close ages, was unable to get him to open up. The young man’s good-natured teasing demands to see pictures of Keith’s boyfriend only made the teen prickle and push him away, saying it wasn’t his business.

“I’m starting to think you made him up.”  Regris sniffed, clearly put out that his latest attempts to get Keith to show him pictures had fallen flat.  

“If I made him up, where do you think I’m sleeping every night?  The Ritz?” Keith quipped as he sketched. He wasn’t an apprentice, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t inspired by the designs surrounding him at work.  And Kolivan was never one to discourage art. “And I told you, we just don’t take a lot of pictures. My phone has shitty storage space anyway. I can’t take a photo of my work schedule without it having a fit and shutting down.”

“Draw him, then.”  Regris leaned across the table and tapped the paper.  Keith swatted his hand away.

“I suck at drawing people. You know that.”  He said.

“Tsk, Keith, a good tattoo artist has to be able to draw _anything_ , you know that.”  Regris said. “Practice makes perfect.  Go on. Chop chop.”

“Chop chop your--” Keith caught sight of Thace arching an eyebrow at him.  He folded in on himself, grouchy. “...butt.” He finished lamely.

Regris leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, poking one of his tongues through his lip-ring (even though Ulaz had told him time and time again not to).  “Is he cute, at least?”

Keith tilted his head, quiet.  But by now Regris knew him well enough to tell the difference between Keith’s silences; this was his “ _I’m thinking about what I want to say_ ” silence rather than his “ _I have no intention of answering your question_ ” one.  A small victory for Regris.  He would have to see where it went.  

“He’s good-looking.”  Keith said finally. “I don’t know if I’d call him ‘cute’.”  

“More of a bara type?”  Regris asked.

Keith actually looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion.  “...A what?”

“Bara.  Bigger, muscley, macho-man kinda type.”  Regris pretended to flex. Or maybe he really was flexing, and it just didn’t do much (he had spent more of his high school career doodling on his skin in pen than he had going to gym class, and hadn’t much changed his habits since graduating).  

Keith blinked.  “Oh. Yeah, I guess.”  

“The kinda guy who can pick you up without breaking a sweat.”  Regris clarified.

“Uh.  Probably.”  Keith’s ears pinked.  “Haven’t tried that.”

Regris’s brow piercing jumped as he arched his eyebrow.  They totally had. But he wouldn’t dispute it, not with ‘ _the dads_ ’ nearby.  “Is he nice?  He treats you well?  I’ll beat him up for you if he doesn’t.”  

“You couldn’t beat up the seagull that stole your croissant last week.”  Keith said bluntly.

“Seagulls are a different class of warriors.”  Regris waved it off. “Besides, you could have helped, instead of laughing your…” he glanced across the room at Thace.  “...butt, off on the boardwalk.”

“I like to watch you suffer.”  Keith deadpanned. Regris snorted.  At least Keith was teasing him again.  Regris thought of him like a younger brother and didn’t like to see him moody and sullen, which was happening more often recently.  

~~~~~~~

Even though Keith no longer had to tiptoe around his foster parents, Kolivan still refused to give him any closing shifts.  

“It is just unhealthy for someone to stay up until three in the morning.”  Kolivan reasoned.

“Then how come you can do it?”  Keith argued.

“Because I’m forty-three years old and my brain is as well-developed as it’s ever going to get.”  Kolivan replied flatly. “For the record, Regris wasn’t allowed to close until he was twenty-five, either.  Frankly, I still don’t think his brain is fully developed, but that is another matter.”

“Are you still mad about the time I knocked over a pot of ink and we couldn’t get the stain out of the tile, so we have to cover it up with this beautiful purple and black zebra-print rug?”  Regris called from across the room.

“I hate that rug.”  Kolivan grumbled.

~~~~~~~

Because Kolivan would only allow Keith to take the first or second shift, Keith was usually back at Sendak’s by dinner time.  Having been banned from the kitchens of several of his foster families, Keith was eager to learn how to cook, now that he had enough disposable income to buy fresh food at the grocery store.  He wasn’t great at it, but he kept trying and was able to improve, and he did love the smile he would earn when Sendak came home from work and found dinner nearly ready for him. Seeing his face light up in turn sparked something bright and proud inside Keith’s chest and made him feel warm, even if what he was making wasn’t turning out quite the way the recipe described.  

“What would I do without you, Keith?”  Sendak came up to stand behind him at the stove, wrapping his large, warm hands around Keith’s waist.  He leaned down to hug him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Keith brightened at the praise and couldn’t help but agree -- he too had never been happier than in the past few weeks.  He switched off the burner and turned around in Sendak’s arms to link his arms around the back of his neck. He had to stretch up on his toes to do it, given their difference in height, and Sendak still had to lean down so he could kiss him.  The larger man pressed him up against the counter and kissed him deeply.

“Dinner’s ready.”  Keith reminded him between kisses.  

“I’d rather eat you.”  Sendak chuckled, but he pulled back anyway.  “But I’m starving. I’ll save you for desert.”  He squeezed Keith’s backside before he left to change out of his work clothes.  

Keith swallowed hard as he plated the food and set it on the small table in the corner of the kitchen.  He had been here for nearly two weeks, and while they hadn’t done more than make out, Sendak was getting more and more bold with his advances.  Keith was torn about whether to fend him off or let him do it. The last thing he wanted was for Sendak to leave him. Not after everyone else had kicked him to the curb.  He didn’t want to lose him. And he liked making Sendak happy. Sometimes he came home from work so late, looking haggard and exhausted. It hurt Keith’s heart whenever Sendak brushed him off or ignored him after a long day, so he tried to do what he could to turn his mood around.  And if that meant letting Sendak control the pace, then so be it.

Keith took a deep breath as he filled up two glasses of water at the sink.  If the only thing holding him back was his own nerves, they could take a hike.  Relationships were about compromise, after all. Give and take. Sendak was giving him a place to stay, for free.  Cooking was fine, but he should start doing more to earn his keep here. Besides, everyone loved sex. Why not just take the leap and do it?  Better tonight, when Sendak was happy, than one of the nights he was in one of his moods.

Dinner was mostly a quiet affair, but that wasn’t unusual.  Sendak didn’t ever talk much about himself or things going on at work.  Being a fairly quiet person himself, Keith thought he understood. The only times it really bothered him was when Sendak didn’t tell him when he was going to be out late, or when he was coming home (there had been one or two occasions he hadn’t come home at _all_ , and Keith had been worried).  But Sendak always brushed it off as “work stuff”, and Keith tried to be understanding.  He figured it must be hard on his boyfriend to work so much.

After dinner, they lounged on the couch and watched TV.  Sendak flipped between a UFC fight and a football game. Personally, Keith wasn’t a fan of either, and it was hard to get into either when Sendak would change between them seemingly at random.  But he enjoyed the arm around his waist that kept him tucked up against Sendak’s side. Even when that hand crept underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

“This fight’s boring.”  Sendak grunted, lifting the remote to mute the TV.  Keith wouldn’t know a ‘boring’ fight from an ‘interesting’ one; he just wasn’t really into watching guys throw fists at each other and yell.  He’d already gotten his fill of that growing up.

The hand curled around his waist tightened and brought him out of his thoughts.  Keith let himself be pulled into Sendak’s lap, facing him with his legs bracketing his boyfriend’s wide thighs.  Thick, heavy fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled Keith in for a kiss. Keith closed his eyes as the light from the television cast flashes of colors across the darkened walls -- he didn’t know why Sendak didn’t just turn it off, if they were going to do this.  What, was he hoping to keep up with the action over Keith’s shoulder?

A hard suck on the stud through his tongue yanked him back to the moment, and he gasped.  He didn’t think Sendak realized that pulling on his tongue piercing quite that hard actually hurt, and anytime he did it, he kept a hand firmly pressed to the back of Keith’s head so he couldn’t pull back and tell him.  He soothed it with another kiss and moved on before Keith could mention it.

Then there was a hand sliding down his backside and squeezing his ass, making him gasp into the mouth devouring his.  “S-Sendak…” This was happening fast -- Sendak was already lifting him up from his lap and pushing him onto his back on the couch, climbing over him.  He didn’t expect this to happen here, in the living room, with the flickering light of the TV washing over them.

“Yeah, kitten…” Sendak growled, grinding their clothed hips together.  Keith nearly jumped at the hot, hard length he could feel rubbing against his stomach, heat spreading seemingly from the point it touched and filtering through him like coals being fanned into flames.  

But first, Keith had something he needed to say.  “Sendak, wait… I need to tell you something. I’m… I’m not…”

“I know.”  Sendak murmured against his skin.  “I know you’re not eighteen yet, kitten.  But you’re close enough, and I’m tired of waiting.  And you’re more mature than your age, Keith, I know you are.  We don’t have to tell anyone, it’ll be our little secret.”

Keith bit his lip, trying to fight the bright glow in his chest at the praise.  “It’s not just that. There’s something else, too--”

“And I know what you’re hiding in those skinny jeans, babe.”  Sendak chuckled, fingers bypassing the sock stuffed down there in favor of skating up his inner high and brushing right over that spot between his legs, making Keith squeak in surprise (both at the action and at the tingling heat that coiled there suddenly).  “It’s okay, hon. Doesn’t change anything. I don’t care if my baby boy has a pussy. Just one more hole for me to make you feel amazing, babe.”

The words made the hair on Keith’s arms and the back of his neck rise, tainting the good feeling he had in his gut and turning it into something repulsed and apprehensive.  But, he tried to reason as he let Sendak pull him back into a kiss, he supposed this wasn’t the worst reaction. Sendak hadn’t screamed or pushed him away or gotten mad at him.  He hadn’t accused him of lying or leading him on. He still wanted Keith. So… he guessed that was the best he could ask for.

Keith tried to fight back the nausea and urge to flee, as he let Sendak rub his thigh between Keith’s legs and draw him into another kiss.  He was just nervous from this being his first time, he thought. That’s all it was.

“Be gentle.”  He whispered it, hating himself as he did it.  He wanted to slap himself for sounding like such a cliche.  But he was scared -- so much so that he was shaking like he was cold, even though all he could feel was the heat radiating from the huge body covering him.  Keith didn’t want to admit his inexperience to someone as confident and sexy as Sendak. What if he decided Keith wasn’t worth his time, and left?

On the contrary, though, Sendak paused only to look down at him with a new hunger in his eyes.  “Oh? Am I your first?”

Keith could only nod mutely, heart pounding so hard he probably wouldn’t have heard his own words if he had said anything.  

Sendak’s lips split in a wide, predatory grin as his hands smoothed up and down Keith’s sides, rucking his shirt up.  “Don’t you worry, kitten. I’ll take good care of you. The first time might hurt a little, since I’m so big,” he rolled his hips to grind his clothed cock against Keith’s groin, punching a startled gasp out of his lungs.  Sendak swallowed his yelp with his own lips. “But I’ll make it good for you, kitten.”

“Please…” Keith pulled him closer.  He didn’t want it to hurt, but… everyone said that, right?  At least he had Sendak to show him what to do. He should feel grateful.  

Keith swallowed back the nausea burning his insides.  It would turn to pleasure soon enough.

...Right?               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry 😬


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** a bit of drugs (marijuana, and mentions of prescription drugs abuse), and emotional manipulation (on Sendak’s part) in part 3. Not sure what kind of “warning” it would qualify as, but parts 1-2 feature Kolivan and Thace getting suspicious about Keith’s relationship and wondering about possible abuse, though they don’t have any definitive proof. The audience knows what’s up, though, so it’s a little more obvious to y’all.

Kolivan tried not to involve himself too much in his employee’s personal lives.  

That was not to say he did not care deeply for each of them, because he did, very much so.  He would always listen, if one of them approached him wanting to talk about something. Lord knows he had spent hours as a sympathetic ear during Thace’s divorce, and had helped him talk through his feelings until he gained the courage to fight for custody of his son.  Even back when Ulaz had been a regular client rather than an artist, the discussions they had had while Kolivan worked on him were deep and had ultimately lead to Ulaz leaving medical school to pursue his own dreams rather than those of his parents. After years of being told by less understanding people that he was ‘cold’, ‘callous’, and ‘closed-off’, it made Kolivan truly happy to be thought of as the kind of person his friends -- they really were more than just his employees -- could rely on in times of trouble.  But he was never one to pry. If people did not want to make something known, then he saw no reason to force the matter.

That made it very difficult to reckon with the situation he now found himself in.  

For the past week or so, Keith had been… flighty.  Distracted, even more so than usual as of late. Tense.  He grew frustrated easily during his studies and more often than not, Kolivan found him frowning over his sketchbook while his GED book sat discarded under the counter.  Kolivan was well-aware that a sketchbook could be a private thing, so didn’t make a habit of looking over anyone’s shoulder that wasn’t his apprentice working under his instruction, but the glimpses he caught of Keith’s pages worried him; wolves with fangs bared, twisted hands contorted in too much anguish to be a simple anatomy study, claws plunging into flowers and ripping scattered petals, still-life light studies where the shadows were made up of too-dark, too-heavy, angry cross-hatching… Kolivan had seen his fair share of intimidating artwork in the tattoo studio, but Keith’s drawings --  _ practices _ , not commissions for some tough biker client -- concerned him greatly.  

Most disturbing of all, though, were the bruises.  The days were growing cooler as they moved into autumn, so he could not fault Keith for wearing longer sleeves more often.  But the glimpses Kolivan caught of blueish-purple or yellowed-green bruises on his wrists and forearms made him wonder if the dropping temperature was the only reason for the change in wardrobe.  Keith was not especially clumsy -- quite the opposite, he had never met anyone who could walk as soundlessly or move things around as quietly as Keith -- so he had a hard time believing Keith whenever the teen brushed it off as having bumped into something or knocked himself on a corner.  A bump from a corner couldn’t wrap around his wrist like that. 

The boy put on a good smile for customers, never letting strangers see anything other than what he wanted them to see.  Kolivan’s problem came when Keith tried to turn that same false smile on him when he said he was fine and that nothing was bothering him.  In the quiet moments when Keith thought no one was looking -- when he was engrossed in his sketching, or a moment of distraction while cleaning between customers -- Kolivan could see the façade crack and could catch a glimpse of the turmoil within.  But it was always a fleeting moment, there and gone in the blink of an eye and probably impossible for an untrained eye to catch. Then the mask would be back in place, a mask Kolivan himself was only too familiar with. 

Upward-curved lips meant nothing to him as a smile, not when it was the eyes that gave it away.  

~~~~~~~

Thace was, quite possibly, the only member of their group who could be considered a ‘morning person’.  It wasn’t entirely his own doing, to be honest; he would gladly sleep until the afternoon, if he didn’t have a son to coax out of bed, feed, make breakfast and pack lunch for, and hustle out the door to the school bus by seven-thirty AM.  But being a little bleary-eyed and foggy-headed in the morning was worth it, to do what he did. 

Because of his morning routine, he was plenty willing and able to be saddled with the task of opening the studio up, while the rest of them slept in after keeping the late hours that brought in a considerable amount of their business.  Thace hadn’t been able to make it to three in the morning without getting grouchy in years, anyway. He’d gladly take opening shop over closing any day. 

Thace was just digging his keys out to unlock the front door of the studio when a large Jeep came to a stop at the curb right in front of their shop.  Thace paused mid-sip and eyed the driver over the top of his coffee. Big guy, burly, with thick, hairy arms and a mean-looking twist to his smirk. Thace got the sense the guy was judging him just looking at him.  

The driver turned away from the window and said something to the person in the passenger seat, though Thace couldn’t see them well from where he was standing.  He wondered if this guy was going to get out and demand a tattoo before they had technically opened shop (he looked like the demanding type). Instead, the passenger door opened -- letting out a blast of that atrocious rap music Thace never saw the appeal of -- before slamming shut.  To his surprise, Keith walked around the front of the car while waving to the driver, who took off as soon as Keith was on the sidewalk. 

Thace stopped with the key halfway turned in the lock, stunned.  

“Morning, Thace.”  Keith greeted him. “Sorry for showing up a little early.  Got a ride.”

“I saw that.”  Thace collected himself enough to get the door unlocked and opened.  “Who was that?” 

“My boyfriend.”  Keith paused to turn the sign in the window from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and switch on the neon Blade logo in their front window.  

Thace took a sip of his coffee.  He needed something stronger for this.  “A bit old to be a university student.” He said carefully.  

Keith’s hands faltered for only a moment as he slipped off his messenger bag.  “I never said he was a university student.” He said, his voice sounding just as careful.  

Thace cocked his head.  “I could have sworn you did.”  

“No, I said he lives near the university.”  Keith disappeared behind the front desk and emerged once again with the glass-cleaner and paper towels.  “He works on the medical campus. In the pharmacy.” 

“Does he, now.”  Thace watched the boy as he started cleaning the display case in the front of the shop.  There was something oddly cagey about Keith’s behavior right now, something that unfortunately Thace had seen him exhibit before whenever the subject of his foster parents had come up.  It was almost like he was trying too hard to be casual. Like he was actively trying not to say something. 

Thace counted out and recorded the register, his mind only half on the task at hand.  That man’s appearance bothered him immensely, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.  Part of it was likely that cold smirk he had given Thace as he looked him over. A bigger, more obvious part was that the man’s age, compared to Keith’s.  A man like that had no business interacting with a minor in anything other than a day-to-day or professional setting. Not in a romantic sense, and  _ certainly  _ not in the sense of living together.  Thace prided himself on having remarkably good instincts regarding people, even within moments of meeting them.  And he did  _ not  _ like the feeling he got from that man.  

“Keith.”  He had to ask.  “How old is he?”  

Keith was quiet for only a few seconds, but it felt much longer to Thace.  “He’s twenty-eight.” 

Dear god.  “Keith…”

“It’s fine, Thace.”  Keith snatched up the bottle of glass-cleaner and headed to the other side of the shop.  Almost as if putting physical distance between them would keep the conversation from happening.  “It’s not a big deal. Age is just a number, anyway.” 

“But eleven years, Keith?”  Thace struggled to see the appeal.  A difference in age was fine, but at a certain point… Not to mention Keith was a  _ minor _ …   

Keith’s eyes snapped over to him in a hard glare.  “Basically ten. I’ll be eighteen in a month.” 

But he  _ wasn’t _ , now.  Nor was he when the relationship began.  “Ten years is still a very big gap--”

“Not really.  It happens.” Keith shrugged.  “Like that actor from that movie that guy was talking about the other day, what’s-his-name with the mustache?”

Thace remembered.  The actor in question was around fifty, and had just married a woman fifteen years his junior.  “Differences in age are sometimes less decisive when the couple in question is well into adulthood.”  He tried to reason. A man in his fifties with a woman in her thirties might cause a mild media fuss for the sake of paparazzi getting a story on the cover of a tabloid magazine, but there was hardly anything wrong with it.  It was much more noticable -- and morally gray -- when it was a nearly thirty year old with a literal teenager.

Keith rounded on him, hackles raised.  “Look, I’m not going to go through some magical transformation the moment I turn eighteen that’s going to radically change anything about me.  It’s just a stupid number. I’ll be the same person in a month as I am now. I can take care of myself -- I have for  _ years  _ \-- and I can make my own decisions about my relationships.  And I definitely don’t need my  _ coworker’s  _ permission or approval in order to date someone.”  

Thace regarded him evenly as a tense silence settled over the studio.  He understood what Keith was saying, and he truly did see him as a smart young man who could make his own choices in life.  But there was something about him -- his guarded stance, the anger burning in his eyes, his explosive outburst -- that Thace was all too familiar with, as the father of a young son.  It was a bit too collected to be called a ‘tantrum’, but it was far from a level-headed discussion. 

Keith was caught between a riptide and an undertow; a child forced to grow up too fast to survive in an adult’s world, but still unable to truly be an adult.  Thace didn’t want to see him drown, but he couldn’t do anything when Keith was refusing to take any hand that was offered his way. 

“Just promise me that you’re being safe.”  Thace said. 

Keith’s eyes flashed in anger.  “I don’t have to promise you shit.  You’re not my fucking parent. We just work together.”  He snatched up the cleaning supplies and strode off to the back workroom, slamming the door behind him.  

Thace braced his hands against the front desk and took a deep, steadying breath.  

~~~~~~~~

Keith could smell the heavy, sickly-sweet stench of weed before he even opened the apartment door.  He wasn’t expecting Sendak to be home, actually -- he usually worked until the evening. And he didn’t usually smoke unless it was a weekend or night when he was especially stressed.  Never in the middle of the day. 

Keith unlocked the door and opened it cautiously.  Sendak was slouched on the sofa watching a UFC rerun, a blunt hanging between his fingers.  He didn’t look up when Keith slipped inside. 

Sendak was in one of his moods, and this one seemed worse than usual.

“Hey.”  Keith greeted.  He kept his tone carefully neutral.    

He didn’t get an acknowledgement.    

Keith found himself feeling uncertain.  He wished he hadn’t come home quite yet.  “Want me to… start dinner?” 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.”  Sendak grunted. 

“...Yeah, I guess it is.”  Keith swallowed. 

Sendak took a drag and breathed out plumes of blue-gray smoke, eyes fixed on the television without seeming to really see it.  

Keith didn’t know what else to do, so he took a seat at the table and pulled out his sketchbook.  He hadn’t a shred of inspiration, all of it having fled in the face of this new, unknown danger permeating the apartment.  But maybe shading one of his older outlines would help him calm his racing heart. He wanted to walk out the door and leave, but he knew he couldn’t do that without bringing questions and anger upon himself.  He was stuck, and would just have to weather out this storm, whatever it was. 

Sometime later, Sendak discarded the last of his blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table and got to his feet.  Keith watched him out of the corners of his eyes as he crossed the apartment and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a beer.  “You tattooing people, yet? Making more money?” He asked. The crack of the tab against the aluminum top sounded too-loud as it split the tense silence choking the apartment.  

Keith glanced at him.  “Not for a long while. I’d have to apprentice, first, and I’m not old enough to do that yet.”  

Sendak grunted, sounding put out by that.  “See if you can pick up more shifts, then.”  He took a swig of his beer. 

Keith’s pencil went still over the paper.  “Did something happen?” 

“Yeah.”  Sendak dropped heavily back onto the couch, propping one foot up on the coffee table with a careless  _ thunk _ .  “Got fired.  Shithead boss found out I was skimming off the stash and selling them to students without a prescription.” 

Keith froze, looking up.  “You  _ what _ ?”  He whispered, horrified.  

“Lucrative business.  Rich frat boys willing to pay a fortune more than the drugs actually cost are a dime a dozen.”  Sendak said. “Not like firing me is gonna stop demand. I just gotta figure out how to stay in the game without being the inside man, now.”  

Keith felt a chill race down his spine.  “How long were you doing that, for?” He asked carefully, afraid of the answer.  

Sendak let out a scoff.  “Been dealing longer than you’ve been alive, kid.  Was a runner for the Galra Empire gang when I was still a grade schooler.  No one suspects a kid with a backpack.” He frowned and scratched at the scar cutting across his eyebrow.  The one he said he got playing baseball. “Guess I’ll have to go back to working with them, now.” 

Keith swallowed hard, his chest feeling tight as his heart beat against his ribs.  

Sendak stood up suddenly, and Keith’s eyes snapped back to his sketchbook.  He shaded without really seeing what his hand was doing, attention fixed solely on the heavy footfalls that stepped closer and closer to him.  A hand pushed itself through his hair, making his scalp prickle. Usually he loved the feeling of fingers combing through his hair, but it felt different tonight.  Bad. Less a caress, and more a net closing around him.

“You’re the only good thing I’ve got left, kitten.”  Sendak told him. “Don’t know what I’d do if you left me.”

“I’d never leave you.”  The words left his lips without even pausing to think.  It was what he was supposed to say. The sick, twisting fear in his chest was just concern for Sendak, he told himself.  

“Good.”  Sendak tugged his head back by his hair and kissed him.  The beer was bitter on his breath, but the drugs tasted sickeningly sweet.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _promise_ things will get better in a bit (...then worse. Then better again!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** mentions of physical abuse, and dub-con in part 1 that is there but quick and not very detailed. Pregnancy scare in part 2.

Sendak came home less and less often, after that.  He would leave unexpectedly, be gone for days, and would stumble in at some dark hour between midnight and morning, sometimes startling Keith awake as a body slid into bed behind him without warning.  He never told Keith where he was going or when he would be back, and Keith didn’t dare ask about it too much. He nearly always came back smelling like booze, or weed, or strange, artificial scents that Keith tried to pretend weren’t colognes and perfumes.  He wanted to believe Sendak wouldn’t cheat on him, but it seemed like there was suddenly a lot that Keith didn’t know about the man he called his boyfriend.

He started brushing Keith off more, and there were nights when it was like he didn’t even realize Keith was in the apartment.  Unless he wanted something from him, that was. But even the way he took him was different now. He was rougher, and the way he pinned him down had changed from teasing and playful to actually restraining.  It didn’t matter if Keith asked him to slow down or ease up, especially when a lot of the time, Sendak just clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle him. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, how he wanted it.  

The scariest moment Keith had ever felt was the time he had come home to an empty apartment after work, gotten in the shower, and suddenly heard the bathroom door open.  He was genuinely ready to beat the person off with a bottle of shampoo when he felt a familiar body slip into the shower behind him.

“Sendak!”  His breath left him in a rush, relief flooding through him.  Lips pressed against the back of his bare shoulder as the hands at his waist crept around to the front of his body.  Keith’s skin prickled uncomfortably as one hand squeezed his breast and the other delved between his legs. “I… I’m not really in the mood right now--” Keith tried to tell him, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.  

“I missed you, kitten.”  Sendak murmured as he pushed a finger inside.

Keith bit his lip, both to hold back the hiss at the intrusion and also at the soft tone he hadn’t heard in weeks.  

He reached back to comb his fingers through Sendak’s hair, swallowing hard and trying to relax his muscles.  “I missed you too.” He still missed him. Even when he was home, he wasn’t the same. Maybe if Keith was good enough, and let him do what he wanted, the old Sendak would come back.  The Sendak that would hold him afterward and tell him how much he loved him.

But even as much as Keith had hoped otherwise, Sendak didn’t stick around long after he finished.  He just pulled out and stepped out of the shower, leaving Keith to stand under the running water with his forehead pressed against the tile wall, alone and feeling cold despite the heat of the water striking him.  Keith hated the way he felt afterward; sick to his stomach and _used_.  But he told himself it was just the stress that was making Sendak act this way.  That’s all it was.

~~~~~~~

It was a relatively quiet day.  Unusually warm, for early October, but Keith was still sporting long sleeves all the same.  Regris had asked him if he was hot, dressed like that on this nice warm day, but Keith had said he was tired of people asking him why he didn’t have any tattoos of his own despite working there, so he figured he’d just cover up.  Ulaz wanted to believe that, but he personally couldn’t recall anyone asking that of Keith before.

The shop was fairly empty, aside from just a few people.  A shy-looking woman had come in while Ulaz was piercing someone and she was now poking through their designs and photos over in the corner.  “Just browsing”, she said, and claimed not to need any help. Ulaz had seen the type before; shy about even looking, after being told by Big Name Beauty Companies that tattoos “weren’t pretty” on women.  Keith was still keeping an eye on her from the front desk in case it looked like she had questions she was too afraid to ask. Ulaz had just finished up with his own client and was talking to them about aftercare near the front desk.

“Sweet, so I’ll just come back here in a few weeks to go up a couple gauges--”  A loud, fluttering crash sound from the corner of the shop cut off the man’s words, and they all looked over to find the woman had dropped a very thick photo album crammed full of photographs and sketches, which had scattered across the floor.  

Her mouth dropped open in shock and her entire face went up in flames as she dropped to her knees to pick up the book, stammering apologies and looking on the verge of tears.  Keith jumped up and went to her at once, saying it was okay, it was a really heavy book…

As the two of them picked up the scattered papers, Ulaz’s client paid and left just as the phone rang.  Ulaz went to the front desk, since Keith was busy consoling the startled woman, and answered the phone. Just a routine rescheduling from a client who had come down with a bit of a cold before her appointment and didn’t want to bring her illness into the studio.  He thanked her for her consideration -- diseases could prove deadly in this sort of environment, after all -- and moved her to next week.

After he hung up the phone, he reached for the post-it note pad to make a note of the rescheduling for Thace, and he found a phone number scrawled on the top note.  He peeled it off and stuck it to the corner of the schedule book, then wrote his own note to Thace and left it at the top of the schedule where he knew the other artist would see it.  He glanced over to the corner and found the two of them had gathered up most of the papers and Keith was trying to encourage the woman to keep browsing, saying she really didn’t need to leave because of that. 

Ulaz peeled off the note with the lone phone number on it and looked down at it, curious.  Perhaps it was a client they needed to follow up with? It was unusual to not include a name or the name of a requested artist, he thought as he picked up the phone again and tapped in the number.  He dearly hoped they wouldn’t mind a follow-up call to get the rest of their information.

The line rang a few times before the call was picked up.  “Planned Parenthood, Second Street clinic. How can I help you?”

Ulaz’s eyes widened.  “Oh. My apologies, I believe I may have the wrong number.”  

He hung up the phone and looked down at it, checking between the screen and the note.  He hadn’t entered it wrong. Perhaps whoever wrote it had made a mistake? Switched a number or misheard the client… goodness knows he had done the same once or twice, they were all only human after all.  

Ulaz studied the handwriting.  It wasn’t his own. Too neat to be Regris or Antok.  Not blocky enough to be Kolivan or Thace. And Keith did man the front desk most often, out of all of them.  It would make sense if he wrote it, but he was usually quite diligent about taking down clients’ information properly.        

The door let out a jingle as the woman from before left in a hurry, apparently too embarrassed to stay after her mishap.  Keith carried the thick album back over to the reception desk, probably to properly organize all the papers and photos that had been stuffed hastily back into the front cover.  

Ulaz held up the note between two fingers, looking at him over it.  “Did you take down any of the client’s other information? I believe there might be a mistake with the phone number…” he trailed off as he watched Keith’s face slacken and go pale, eyes locked on the note.  Ulaz’s stomach sank. “This… isn’t a client, is it?” He asked quietly.

“No.”  Keith admitted, looking away.  “I just… I was thinking of going.  Have some questions.”

Ulaz tried not to assume.  Planned Parenthood had a lot of services, after all.  “Questions?”

Keith shifted his weight.  He looked around the shop to make sure they were alone, biting his lip.  “I wanted to ask about how late a period can be before the person should be worried.  Like, is seven or eight days a normal amount of ‘late’, or if it’s… if it’s something else.”  He glanced at Ulaz. “You went to two years of med school. Do you know?”

That had been a long time ago.  And that area was certainly never his specialty.  Ulaz took a deep breath. “Stress can delay one’s cycle, I believe.  Extreme exercise, in some cases. Generally, that answer can be very different, depending on if the individual in question has engaged in sexual intercourse recently.”  

Keith’s fingers tightened around the book in his hands.  “Let’s say for argument’s sake, yes.” His voice came out quiet, barely above a whisper.  

Ulaz’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.  “Keith…”

“I said for argument’s sake.”  Keith bristled, shoulders hiking up defensively.  

“Keith, I cannot impress upon you enough how serious of a situation this is--”

“You don’t think I know that?”  Keith’s eyes snapped up to glare at him.  “You don’t think I know _exactly_ how serious it is?  You think I’m asking about it for _fun_?”  Even through the anger, Ulaz could see that under it all, Keith was scared.  He needed help, he needed support.

Ulaz closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steadying himself.  When he looked down again, Keith was still clutching the photo album in a white-knuckled grip, his hands trembling ever so slightly.  

The boy needed help, so he would do what he could.  “Have you always been regular?”

Keith swallowed and looked away, cheeks turning pink, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected given his hesitancy around the subject.  “Pretty, yeah.”

“When did this happen?”  Ulaz asked.

Keith’s lips pressed into a thin line.  He refused to look at Ulaz.

No… Ulaz tried again, even though he dreaded the answer he might get.  “More than once?”

Keith was silent for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod.

Ulaz’s heart clenched painfully as it sank.  “Oh, Keith…”

Violet eyes snapped up to fix a hard glare on him.  “I don’t need a pity party, or a lecture, or for you to tell me how stupid I am, okay?  I already know all that. I just--” Keith cut himself off sharply, his gaze going vacant for several moments.  His eyes widened as if in shock. “I have to go.” He said suddenly, reaching under the reception desk and grabbing his messenger bag.  

“Keith, please, wait--” Ulaz tried to stop him, but to his surprise, Keith didn’t head for the front door.  He went toward the back.

“No, I have to--  Uh.” Keith broke off, ears burning red and looking everywhere but at Ulaz.  “False alarm. I think. I gotta… I mean, fuck… I’ll be back in like, five minutes.”  

Oh.

Keith turned to him as before he disappeared around the corner to the back -- where the bathrooms were.  He glared at Ulaz, warning clear in his eyes. “This never happened.” He pointed at him sternly before he rushed off, bag in hand.

He understood the sense of awkwardness.  But they couldn’t simply pretend this conversation had never happened.

Keith came back a few minutes later.  His ears were still red, but there was a worrying pinkness around his eyes as well now.  He shoved his messenger bag back under the desk and braced his hands against the countertop.  Ulaz passed him a bottle of ibuprofen and a water bottle from the mini-fridge without a word. Keith shook out two pills and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a swig of water.  

The two of them stood in silence for several long, agonizing moments.  Worry churned heavily in Ulaz’s gut; he wanted to believe that Keith accepting the painkillers (and thus _needing_ them) meant he was in the clear, but the obvious signs of tears worried him.  Had they been tears of relief? Or dispair? He wanted to ask, but he also got the sense that asking outright would only cause Keith to push away.  As much as Ulaz hated the nerve-wracking uncertainty, he had to let the boy come to him, and tell him on his own terms.

Finally, at long last, Keith spoke up again.  “...I’m fine.” He said, his voice quiet.

Relief washed through the older man, but not enough to completely soothe the concern.  It was only half of the battle. But it was something. “I’m glad.” He replied, voice just as soft.     

Keith took a deep, shaky breath.  “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

Ulaz said nothing.  How could he? He wanted to respect Keith’s wishes, but if the worst happened… “Just promise me you’ll be safe.”  He said instead.

Keith didn’t say anything, eyes fixed on the desk in front of him.  It seemed neither was willing to make promises they weren’t sure if they could keep.  

Ulaz picked up the note with the phone number written on it and placed it on the desk next to Keith’s hand.  “You should still go. Get any protection you can.” He laid a hand over Keith’s own and squeezed it gently. He could feel the slight tremor under his skin.

Keith nodded and slipped the note into his pocket.  “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs* I'm sorry, Keith, I promise the next chapter will be happy things... (I should be able to get it up tomorrow or the next day -- my schedule last week was a little wack so sorry for not posting on time)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific warnings for this chapter (for once, amiright? Finally getting some happy in here)
> 
> Also, as much as I love the number 13, I did up the chapter count because I have poor planning/estimating skills. ✌ Might even make it to 15, we'll see. I will say it will end on a much happier note for poor Keith.

If Keith had been asked a couple of month ago, he would have said waking up to an empty bed was not how he wanted to start his birthday.  But honestly, he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. A good-morning kiss and a “happy birthday” seemed like a bit of a pipe dream, at this point.  He was just glad today wasn’t starting with a fight or a fuck.

He got ready in silence and grabbed a coffee on his way to the bus, grumpy at the sun for daring to shine at this ungodly hour of seven-thirty in the morning.  Okay, maybe that was a little much, but he still didn’t see why Kolivan had to call a staff meeting an hour before they were supposed to open. Couldn’t they just deal with it at lunch?

The rest of them were already there and gathered around the table in the break room when Keith arrived, which was weird because he was even a few minutes early.  

“So what’s this staff meeting about?”  Keith asked, shouldering open the door and taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee.  “The health inspector came, like, not even a week ago, do we really have another coming?”

“Nothing as dull as that.”  Kolivan smiled. “Apologies for luring you here under false pretenses, but we didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”  At his words, Thace opened the top of a box on the table, revealing a small cake bearing the words _Happy Birthday, Keith_ in curling purple script.

Keith stood frozen as the rest of them called out a flurry of birthday greetings.  He hadn’t had a cake for his birthday -- or even much acknowledgement of the day at all -- in _years_.  Not since his dad passed away.  “I… I don’t know what to say…” He managed to get out, his voice nearly stolen in his shock.  It was a good kind of shock, but still unexpected. He never thought anyone would do something like this in a million years.  

“You could say ‘ _let’s dig in_ ’,” Regris smirked.  “This is the one time cake is acceptable for breakfast.”  

Keith laughed, their infectious good mood finally spreading to him after the shock had worn off.  “Yeah, let’s eat. Thank you guys, you really didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“We wanted to.”  Kolivan smiled. “It’s an important day for you, and one we know you’ve been looking forward to.”

Keith chuckled as Antok’s hand snapped out to grab Regris’s wrist before the younger man could cut the cake with his own pocket-knife.  Thace lightly batted him upside the head as he walked away to bring a proper knife over from the kitchenette along the far wall of the break room.  

“Speaking of things you’ve been looking forward to,” Kolivan went on.  “As a birthday present from all of us, you can have any tattoo you want, on the house.” 

“Within reason.”  Ulaz added. “I must advise against going in for a full color back tat on your first one.”

“You don’t have to decide right away, of course, you can have some time to think about it--” Kolivan went on, even as Keith pulled his sketchbook out of his bag.  

“This one.  Here.” Keith showed them the sketch and pointed to the inside of his right forearm.  He had drawn, to the best of his ability, the knife that his mother had given to his father before she left for her last tour of duty.  When she never came home, his father told him that she had intended it be given to Keith when he was old enough. It was special, he said, and had been passed down through her family for generations.  Sadly, it was taken away with the rest of his family’s things when his father passed away, and Keith never saw it again. But if his parents had wanted him to have it, perhaps this was how he could keep it.

The other five men exchanged looks ranging from surprised to amused to knowing.  

“You know, we can’t really be shocked he has already thought about it.”  Antok chuckled. “He’s been eyeing up that tattoo chair like he can’t wait to jump into it.”  

“Can we do it now?”  Keith asked, excited.  

“But we have cake.”  Kolivan handed him a slice, looking bemused.  

“I’ll eat his, if he wants to skip straight to the ink.”  Regris reached for the plate, but Keith leaned back and held it out of his reach.  He had waited months for this, he could wait a little longer. Besides, it had been a long time since he had eaten cake.

After cake, coffee, and cleaning up, it was time to open the shop.  Realistically, Keith knew he couldn’t get his tattoo until one of them was free to do it, and he didn’t want to take away anyone’s time with customers or their scheduled breaks.  But just knowing it was coming was enough to keep his spirits up throughout work that day. They had a fairly busy day scheduled, with an uptick in people wanting new tattoos or touch-ups done before Halloween, for some reason.  By the middle of the day, Keith was leaning his elbow on the counter and looking down at the appointment book, wondering if he would even be able to do it today. His scheduled break was soon, but unfortunately everyone was booked…

“Alright,” Kolivan came up behind him and ruffled his hair.  “Into the chair with you.”

Keith looked up, blinking.  “Aren’t you booked? With--” he checked the schedule and noticed that while Kolivan had an hour blocked off, he didn’t have a client’s name written there.  

“I set aside some time, just to be sure I could get you in.”  Kolivan told him. “Didn’t want to keep you waiting longer than I already have.”  

Keith brightened up with a grin.  He started off towards the chairs on the shop floor, but Kolivan caught his shoulder.  “Not so fast, you know the drill. Waivers first.”

“I _work_ here.”  Keith said.  

“Then you know how to fill them out.”  Kolivan lightly tapped him over the head with the paperwork.  “We all have to do it, even for those quickies on breaks. When you’re done with these, give them to Regris and you can join me at the chair.”  

Keith grumbled good-naturedly as he filled out the consent forms and waiver.  Regris leaned over the front of the desk on his elbows with his chin propped in his hands, grin teasing.  

“Any questions, my good sir?”  He asked in that damn customer-service voice.  “No drugs or alcohol today? No blood thinners?  Any concerns at all about the immense, terrible, debilitating pain?”  

“Aren’t you supposed to be on this side of the desk?”  Keith pushed the forms at him, unfazed.

“Probably.”  Regris poked his split tongues out at him and flicked them like a snake.  “You excited?”

“Absolutely.”  Keith grinned.

“Then get your blank canvas birthday butt over there, looks like he’s ready for you.”  Regris traded places with him at the desk and plucked out a new folder to create Keith’s file.

In the end, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as Keith had thought it might.  He already knew it didn’t hurt as much as everyone made it out to be, but he had seen more than one person cry or even pass out in the chair before, so he knew there was some pain.  But he had the utmost trust in Kolivan and it was fascinating to watch the marks appear on his skin with every clean, steady stroke, even through the annoying buzz of pain that came with it.

“Not every piece needs to have meaning behind it, and aesthetic for aesthetics sake is reason enough, of course,” Kolivan said while he worked.  “But it seems you put a fair amount of thought into this one.”

Keith told him.  He told him about his mom, or what little he remembered about her from what his dad had told him.  How her sense of duty drew her back to the front lines, even after she had him. How she had planned to come back so she could see him grow up.  How his dad had sat him down and explained what happened, using words simple enough for a four year-old to understand, even if he couldn’t truly comprehend the meaning behind them at such a young age.  How his dad told him he would keep the knife safe in this box until Keith was old enough to handle it himself. How that never happened, because his father had died without a will, and the State wouldn’t take a ten year-old at his word, especially around a knife, even if it did appear to be an heirloom.  

“So, I guess I don’t really know what it means.  The history behind it, that is.” Keith admitted as he watched Kolivan wipe down his arm.  The black lines and purple, violet, and indigo shading were vibrant against his skin, with only a little bit of red irritation around the edges.  “I just know she wanted me to have it. They both did. And this is the only way I can.”

“Perhaps not the only way.  But it is a good way.” Kolivan smoothed down the medical-grade plastic wrap and secured it with tape.  “A tattoo is permanent. No one can take this away from you.”

Keith smiled softly.  “Yeah.”

Kolivan sat back, his tone shifting subtly from kind and serious to a hint of teasing.  “Unless… you neglect proper aftercare, and get my hard work infected. How are you going to care for this?  Let’s see what you’ve learned.” He crossed his arms and gave Keith a knowing, proud smirk as the boy recited aftercare instructions perfectly and down to the last detail.  Goodness knows he gave the speil several times a day to clients.

When Keith slipped into his “customer service” tone at the end of the instructions, Kolivan chuckled and lightly tapped his knee with a tube of their preferred ointment.  “Alright, alright, I think you’ve got it covered. You know how to reach me if anything comes up, but you should be fine. Go eat something and hydrate, then back to work with you.”  

~~~~~~~

Keith went back to the apartment and was around his boyfriend for a good three hours before Sendak noticed the new addition to his skin.  Granted, Sendak’s attention was pretty fixed on the TV and the blunt he was smoking; he barely looked at Keith that evening.

Keith had carefully washed the tattoo, reapplied the ointment from Kolivan, and was fixing dinner when Sendak finally got up off the couch and took proper notice of him.  His gaze settled on Keith’s forearm as he took another beer out of the refrigerator. “What’s that?”

Keith tilted his arm a bit to show it off.  “My first tattoo. Got it today at work.”

Sendak took a sip of his drink, eyes sliding back to the fight on TV.  “You allowed to fuck after getting those things?”

Keith’s hands went still as he thought about it.  “I mean, I’m supposed to rest and take it kind of easy…”  Technically there wasn’t a rule about that. But Sendak tended to be rough with him, and he didn’t listen.  If he unthinkingly grabbed his arm where the tattoo was, it would hurt and might damage it or bring on an infection.  

And, if he was being honest… he just didn’t want to have sex.  

Maybe he was being selfish.  Maybe he was a bad boyfriend, for lying (or, not technically _lying_ , but withholding information).  Maybe he should just say “ _oh, but it’s fine, we can have sex…_ ”  He _knew_ he should -- it was what would make Sendak happy.  But some deeply-buried part of him reached up and grabbed the words as they climbed up his throat, and he held his silence.   

Sendak grunted and went back to his place on the couch.  Keith finished cooking dinner and was just setting the two plates on the table when Sendak stood up, set his empty can on the table, and grabbed his keys.  

“I’m going out.  Don’t wait up.” He said shortly, then left.  

Keith felt his stomach sink as the door shut behind him.  Maybe Sendak already had plans. Maybe it was something for his “work”.  Maybe he wasn’t just seeking out someone else, when Keith wasn’t an option.  Even though in his gut, he couldn’t help but feel it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more fairly-happy chapters, then shit will hit the fan for a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** mentions of needles (nothing graphic or illegal, but some people don’t like them at all) in part 1. In part 2, Keith thinks about some annoying tendencies of Sendak’s that he doesn’t realize are abusive (not being considerate of his feelings, not respecting boundaries, complete disregard for communication between partners, possessiveness, etc.), but as a reader it’s pretty clear, so soft warning there too. 
> 
> ~~*reaches across the Pacific Ocean, or at least to Nagoya* "GIVE... ME... T!!! No? Okay, fine, I'll just live vicariously thru fictional characters..."~~

Keith’s eighteenth birthday heralded more than just the ability to get tattoos.  He was equally excited about another, different kind of needle. One that he had to spend a lot of time and hard work and trips to doctors to get, but was extremely rewarding to find in the form of a nondescript package waiting for him on his doorstep one morning.  Keith nearly tripped over it on his way out, and was glad he came across it rather than Sendak, who might have carelessly stepped on it. 

Keith picked it up and briefly debated what to do with it before slipping it into his messenger bag and locking the door.  He didn’t really know what Sendak would do if he found it around the apartment. Probably open it, at the very least. He hadn’t told him he was starting it (it really felt like Sendak just didn’t listen to anything Keith said anymore, and he probably would have forgotten even if he did mention it), so there was a chance Sendak might accidentally break it or contaminate it just trying to open it.  Besides, he wanted to do it as soon as possible. 

The bus was fairly empty this early in the morning, so Keith took a seat and flipped open his bag to look at the package again, grinning as he read the name on the label.  He opened the package very carefully and peeked inside, but didn’t dare take it out on the bus. After months -- no,  _ years  _ \-- of waiting, he finally had his first dose ready and in his possession.  Now just to… 

Keith blinked.  Oh. He forgot to look up a tutorial about that part.  It’s not like he had a computer, and his phone sputtered out and died when faced with the daunting task of playing a video or loading an article online.  He meant to go to the library and look on their computers, but hadn’t had time. The doctor had explained it, but only once, and Keith wanted to be certain he didn’t do it wrong.    

Well, it was a kind of needle.  Someone at work might know, he reasoned.  Probably Ulaz would have the best idea.

Which lead to Keith digging into the package as he shouldered open the door to the shop, calling out as he entered.  “I need needle help!” He pulled out the syringe and held it aloft so they could see it. “What do I do with this?” 

There was a moment of stunned silence as the other Blades looked at him, then Thace exploded with a yell of “ _ Throw it out, of course!  Why did you even pick it up?! _ ”  He grabbed the trash bin designated for hazardous items and thrust it at Keith, looking positively alarmed.  

Keith blinked, confused by the outrage.  “I didn’t  _ pick it up  _ off the street!  I got it as a prescription!  It’s testosterone!” He brandished the packaging and showed the label on the shot itself.    

Thace froze, taken aback, and blinked as it dawned on him.  

Regris erupted into high, hissing giggles, clutching his stomach and nearly falling off the chair he was perched on.  “Thace, man, did you  _ seriously  _ think Keith just  _ found heroin  _ on the street and was planning on shooting up with it?!”

“I must admit, I was unaware testosterone was an injection…” Thace muttered, setting the hazardous waste bin back where it belonged.

“To be fair, yelling ‘ _ I need needle help _ ’ did not provide much clarification.”  Ulaz examined the rest of the contents of the package, including the instructions Keith had missed in his excitement.  “This looks fairly straight-forward. Come on, I’ll show you how to do it in the back room.” 

“Why the back?”  Antok arched one heavily-pierced eyebrow.  “Does he shoot it directly into his dick?” 

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”  Ulaz said over the groans and winces of imagined pain.  “It does, however, go in the upper back side of the thigh.”  

“Needle in the butt, dude, that’s hardcore even for us.”  Regris whistled. 

“Upper back side of the thigh.”  Ulaz repeated firmly. “Slightly anatomically different from the ‘butt’, proper.”  The juvenile word sounded comically at odds with his stoic personality and flat expression, making Keith snort in amusement.            

~~~~~~~

“Please?”  

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“I am even less inclined, when you make that face.”  

Keith shut the door with his foot and walked past where Regris had his hands clasped in front of him pleadingly before a stony-faced Kolivan who had his arms crossed impassively.  

Regris turned and spotted him.  “Keith! Get over here, your puppy dog eyes are better than mine.”  

Keith grunted and lifted a hand to flip him off on his way over to the front desk.  Sendak had woken him up with a heart attack around four in the morning when he came home in the dead of night and surprised Keith by slipping into bed behind him.  He had nearly punched him in the face before he figured out who it was unexpectedly climbing into his bed and grabbing him around the waist. His bout of sleepy self-defense had led to a bit of an argument about how that wouldn’t have happened if Sendak would just tell him when he was planning on coming back, with Sendak spitting out that what he got up to wasn’t any of Keith’s business... Needless to say, Keith hadn’t slept well afterward, so he was not in the mood for whatever game Regris was playing.

“No amount of ‘puppy dog eyes’ is going to change our budget.”  Kolivan told him. “The booth and transportation costs alone are already high enough, and you want to double our hotel costs.”  

“He does have a bit of a point, Kolivan.”  Thace spoke up as he worked on a client’s arm.  “We’ll be quite cramped in a single room, with six of us plus all of our equipment.”  

“Oh, are you guys going to Ink-Con?”  Thace’s client, one of their regulars, asked.  “You know the new venue this year has triple rooms, right?  Me and two of my buddies are doing that.” 

“See?”  Regris turned to Kolivan.  “Two rooms, three beds each, and six of us.  It’s perfect!” 

“Or one room and double up as usual.”  Ulaz mused. “Saves costs, and Regris still wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.”  

“I  _ always  _ get the floor…” Regris grumbled to Keith and draped himself over the piercing case.  

Keith lightly knocked his elbow with the bottle of glass cleaner until the apprentice moved out of his way.  “We going somewhere?” He asked.

“There is a tattooing convention coming up in November, and we usually attend.”  Kolivan explained. “I’ve already booked the booth, and we were just discussing the number of passes to purchase as well as the hotel accommodations.  It isn’t required, but it is quite a fun weekend. Would you like to join us?” 

Keith considered it.  He had never taken a trip anywhere before.  It would be the first time he spent the night away from Sendak’s apartment since having moved in.  He would have to ask if-- 

No.  Why should he have to ask Sendak’s permission?  His boyfriend came and went as he pleased, often without giving Keith any sort of notice.  Why should Keith be any different? He was an adult too, he could go if he wanted. And maybe if he did, Sendak would get a taste of his own medicine, and might start thinking twice before disappearing for days at a time and waltzing back into the apartment at four in the morning, scaring the crap out of Keith without a care for his feelings.  

Besides, a weekend at a tattoo convention with the Blades did sound like fun.  

Keith nodded.  “Sure. I’ll go.”  

Kolivan offered him a smile, while Regris punched his fist in the air with a “ _ yesss _ ” that sounded oddly snake-like with his split tongue.  The apprentice turned to Kolivan. “So can we get a bigger room, now?”

“Always demanding more, aren’t you?”  Kolivan ruffled his mohawk. “Go clean the equipment, then we’ll see if you deserve it.”

Keith turned back to polishing the piercings case with a snort as Regris wandered off with an exaggerated groan.  A few minutes later, Kolivan came up to him and leaned a hip against the piercing case. 

“Keith,” he crossed his arms, but Keith knew him well enough at this point to recognize that he wasn’t angry, just contemplative.  “About the hotel rooms: are you comfortable sharing with us? I can book you a separate room, if you would feel more at ease.” 

Keith thought about it.  “I mean, I think I can trust you guys not to make a move on me, at this point.”  He said dryly. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “You saying I shouldn’t stay with you because I’m not a  _ ‘real guy’ _ ?”  The words came out laced with venom.  Keith not being cisgender rarely came up at work; the clientele of a tattoo shop was, practically by definition, diverse in most ways and generally non-conforming in some respect, so it was never an issue, at least under Kolivan’s roof.  But after the disdain-filled argument with Sendak last night, he couldn’t help but be a little defensive. 

“Of course you can trust us to be professional, and of course I am not implying anything of that sort.  But you are quite a bit younger than any of us and I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.” Kolivan cocked his head slightly, wondering about the thinly-veiled hostility.  “To be clear, though, we usually bunk two to a bed. If you prefer, you can have one to yourself -- ignore Regris’s whining -- or we can arrange for a single cot to be brought in if you’d like to sleep alone.  Or, we can book two rooms and each sleep alone.” 

“You said that doubles the cost.”  Keith pointed out. 

“It would, but I’m sure we can stretch the budget a bit to make it work.”  Kolivan said. 

Keith drummed his fingers against the countertop.  Sendak wouldn’t like that, he already knew. He wouldn’t get that it didn’t mean anything; half of the Blades even had partners of their own, and if they could do it for a weekend to save a bit of money, Keith could too.  

“No, that’s fine.  I can bunk with someone.  It’s just sleeping.” He shrugged.  Sendak didn’t have to know, he reasoned.  And anyway, he was pretty sure that his boyfriend did far more than just sleep, with far more people, far more often than Keith could ever get up to in one weekend.    

Kolivan nodded.  “Then I will make the booking.  You can have priority picking your bedmate.  Whomever you would be most comfortable with.”

With that settled, Kolivan booked the room and their passes -- five artists and one non-artist.  As the convention drew closer, Keith brought it up with Sendak, just to let him know he would be away for a few days.  As much as he was tempted to give Sendak a taste of his own medicine, Keith had a strong feeling Sendak wouldn’t take as well to Keith up and vanishing for a few days as Keith did for him.  

“It’s just a thing for work.”  He shrugged, picking at his dinner.  “Gotta go and help man the booth while the artists do tattoos and demos and stuff.  I’ll be back on Sunday evening.” 

“You staying there overnight?”  Sendak took a sip of his beer. 

“Yeah, it’s too far to drive there every day with all the equipment.”  Keith said. “We’re renting rooms at the hotel attached to the convention center.”  Well, one room. It was a gray area, here; not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.  

“Hm.”  Sendak got to his feet and brought his empty plate over to the sink.  He didn’t wash it, though -- he never did. Couldn’t be bothered. 

As he passed by the table again, Sendak wove his fingers into Keith’s hair and tugged his head back to kiss him, deep and possessive and uncaring of the fact Keith was in the middle of trying to eat his damn dinner.  “Any of those bastards touch you, I’ll kill ‘em, got it?” He told him when he pulled back. 

It sounded less like a romantic gesture and more like a threat, when he said it like that.  Keith fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t worry. None of them would try. We’re all just coworkers.”  True, they were the closest thing Keith had to friends. But at the end of the day, they just worked together. He knew they didn’t see him as anything more than their assistant, or possibly in the same vein as a little brother.  

Sendak released his hair, letting his hand rest heavy on the back of Keith’s neck for a moment.  “Just gotta protect what’s mine.” He squeezed his nape -- wide hand covering both his nape and the back of his throat -- once before releasing him and disappearing into the bathroom.  A minute later, the shower turned on. The door was left ajar, as if he expected Keith to follow him. For once, Keith was glad to have the dishes in the sink to occupy him. 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck to smooth out the little divots left by Sendak’s nails, trying to stamp down the irritation he felt at the display.  Sendak was just looking out for him, in his own way. Even if his way was vaguely reminiscent of a dog marking its territory -- marking  _ Keith _ , like he couldn’t be trusted to look after himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unaware that hotel rooms with three beds were a thing until I visited Tokyo with my family and our hotel had a double and two singles (I got my own bed! No sibling kicking me! Tbh my family was just happy to have beds by the end of that trip -- their weak asses weren’t used to futons on tatami floors). Not sure if triple rooms are a thing in the US, but whatever, they’re already fictional characters in a world of my making, so there. 
> 
> Next up: Keith gets a hecking break, and some snuggles, cuz the boy deserves it. Especially before we get to the chapter after next...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took me so gosh-darned long to get out… work/real life commitments have been craaazzyyy busy this month. (>.<;; I also caved and wrote a couple things for a summer event on my sfw fics account… that nobody is going to read anyway because the fandom is as dead as Hades… ~~If you liked the Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus series back in the day, I’d appreciate if you gave[these few fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWolf25/works?fandom_id=115613) a look/feedback, because I doubt anyone else will...~~
> 
> **Chapter-specific warnings:** minor dysphoria warning at the end of part 1 (when Keith goes upstairs to take a break from his binder for a bit). Mentions of abuse (physical, sexual, emotional) and a bit of transphobic language, all in part 3. 
> 
> Part 1-2 is nice and fun and lighthearted, and Keith finally gets some friendly platonic snuggles (in my experience, those are the BEST), but at the end there’s a teeny bit of self-reflection on his growing dissatisfaction with his relationship with Sendak, so minor warning there.
> 
> Also, I have never been to a tattoo convention, so sorry if there are inaccuracies in my research. I’ve been to other kinds of conventions, though (anime, writing, and hockey… yes those exist), and they’re all pretty hectic experiences, despite their differences.

A week after he brought it up with Sendak, the convention was quickly approaching.  Keith packed a backpack of things for a weekend trip and showed up to work early for a Friday morning.  The sign was turned to ‘closed’, but the shop was a flurry of activity as they all worked together to pack up equipment and load it into Kolivan and Thace’s cars.  Keith opted to ride with Thace, and he and Regris attempted to drive him crazy with a steady stream of pop-punk, but their plan backfired when it turned out the middle-aged man actually liked it.  By the time they arrived at the venue, Thace was humming along with the radio and asking Keith to text him the name of the band so he could look them up later, and Regris was pouting in the backseat complaining that he was “dad-ifying” his favorite genre.           

The convention was unlike anything Keith had ever seen before.  He had expected something along the lines of the everyday business of their shop, just with more people and it being in a spacious convention center.  And part of it was. But he hadn’t expected the sheer number of people walking around, talking and laughing and drinking. Some were dressed in biker jackets and leather, others with beanies and hipster glasses with detailed Neo-Traditional sleeves poking out from under rolled-up flannel shirts… and then there was the plethora of people who were ‘dressed’ only in the narrowest sense of the word, instead showing off more skin than cloth -- and subsequently, more ink than skin.  The noise of several dozen, if not a hundred, tattooing machines whirring and whining filled the air in a deafening drone that only encouraged people to talk louder to be heard over the din. There were booths of artists doing walk-ins and appointments scheduled with clients coming from near and far, even international. Still more booths were full of shiny new equipment and bottles of ink and cleaning solutions and aftercare products to purchase. Racks of piercings, posterboards full of flash designs, brightly colored flyers thrust into the hands of passerby as they strolled up and down the aisles… There were even demonstrations of new and inventive methods (including a demo on something called “suspension” that admittedly made Keith feel a little weak in the stomach, even though he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from the sight), and panels in hotel ballrooms held on everything from hygiene to running a business to explaining the meaning of various cultural tattoos that were often all lumped under the “tribal” category.  

As fun and exciting as it was, they were there to work.  They hadn’t even set up their booth yet before folks were wandering up to inquire about walk-ins, and Keith basically had the appointment book glued to his hand as he worked to pencil them all in between the people that had scheduled appointments to meet with them here in advance.  The one saving grace was that most everyone was already familiar with tattooing, so while they had more on their plate, it was also a bit more streamlined, as everyone was already used to the paperwork and health checks and aftercare instructions. The days were long, and taxing, and Keith was amazed at the sheer number of hours the artists were sitting and tattooing; far more than their ordinary work days.  One of Keith’s main duties -- and Kolivan stressed, his most important duty -- was to keep tabs on the Blades and make sure they were taking regular breaks, eating, and drinking a lot of water, as the artists tended to fall too far into the zone; they spent so much time working on other people’s bodies that if they weren’t careful, they sometimes lost track of their own bodies’ needs.    

It was hectic.  It was wild. It was a whirlwind tornado of barely-organized chaos.  And Keith was loving every second of it. Sure, he had sweat dripping down his face and his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail because of the man-made humidity of hundreds of bodies pressed into the convention hall.  Yes, his feet ached, and he had to massage cramped muscles and tendons on his friends’ arms when they couldn’t uncurl their fingers from their machines after a long, grueling session. And yeah, five dollars for a bottle of water from the convention center’s food court was a rip-off, but that was why Keith was there to run their empty bottles up to their hotel room and refill them with tap water.  It was absolutely worth it to see the relieved, grateful looks on the Blades’ faces when he passed out snacks or handed them tips they had forgotten to collect from customers in all the chaos. He was part of the team. He felt useful, and wanted, and needed. People even complimented his ink. He was always quick to point out Kolivan so they could praise the artist’s workmanship directly, but the indescribable joy he felt each time he heard  _ “oh wow, it’s your own design?  That’s really impressive, it’s beautiful” _ was something else entirely.  It kept his spirits buoyed all through the day, even when he found himself growing tired. 

As much as it was his job to keep an eye on the other Blades, Keith himself fell prey to the same self-negligence he was guarding against in them.  He was so focused on his work and managing the others that he forgot himself sometimes. In fact, at one point during the day, Thace had to come over and pluck the appointment book out of his hand, replacing it with a key-card for their hotel room and a firm order to go rest for no less than fifteen minutes, preferably a half-hour.  When Keith looked at him in confusion -- the others hadn’t taken breaks in their room… that was why they had an extra chair at the booth table… -- Thace subtly leaned down and reminded him that “it has been about eight hours since we gathered this morning. Isn’t there something you need to do?”  

At his words, Keith realized that the ache in his chest wasn’t quite the same as the tired ache in his legs and feet from standing all day.  He begrudgingly went upstairs to take off his binder for a bit and stretch. He wasn’t worried about privacy -- he was alone in the room, and the door was locked with the only key-card in his pocket.  After he stretched and was laying back on one of the hotel beds scrolling through his phone while he took deep breaths, he glared down at the unwanted lumps under his t-shirt and realized that he would have to do this again at some point tonight, this time around the others.  He didn’t think they would judge him, but he still didn’t like it. He hated his chest, and hated it even more anytime any attention was drawn to it (which was why he loathed so much when Sendak grabbed him there). It was a deep, secret dream of his to one day have top surgery, but he couldn’t see it happening.  Not with his precarious living situation and lack of funds.  

Annoyed with his thoughts, Keith decided he had rested enough.  He put his binder back on and went back downstairs to rejoin the booth and give Thace back the room key, and lose his thoughts in the busy flurry of activity of his job.

~~~~~~~    

When their last appointment of the day was finally crossed off, payment accepted, and Kolivan was calling them to pack up the equipment for the night, Keith was thoroughly exhausted, but still inexplicably giddy.  Then he remembered that he didn’t have to go home after this, didn’t have to let Sendak burst the swelling bubble of happiness in his chest with whatever bad mood the other man always tracked in with him. And the best part, he realized as they all hauled their equipment and gear back to their hotel room, was that he had another day and a half before he had to worry about Sendak at all.  Not even the cramped hotel room could dampen his spirits.

That being said, Keith was, admittedly, a little worried about being around people without his binder.  It was unavoidable, given the sheer amount of time they were spending together, especially at night. After his shower the first night, he layered up two loose t-shirts and a hoodie, but it still couldn’t completely hide the slight swell of his chest.  He made a face in the mirror -- stupid T needed to work faster -- then swallowed down his nerves and opened the bathroom door.  

“I call dibs!”  Regris shouted, and Keith nearly slammed the door shut again and locked himself back in the bathroom before he realized Regris was grabbing his own towel and was not, in fact, looking anywhere near Keith’s chest.  

Kolivan seized the apprentice by the back of his shirt.  “We shower in order of whose hair takes the longest to dry.”  He told him, picking up his own towel and shampoo. “You should have considered that before you shaved half your head.”

“I  _ still  _ think we should re-evaluate that order into  _ ‘whoever has the worst BO’ _ ...”  Regris huffed as Kolivan headed off to the shower, the apprentice shooting a pointed look at Antok.  Bald aside from a long, thin braid at the back of his tattoo-covered head like a tail, he was toward the end of the shower line-up, despite having probably sweat more than any of them during the long day.

Antok frowned at him and snatched the TV remote out of his hands.  “What are you saying,  _ punk _ ?”  He growled.  

“Hey!  Don’t you change the--”  Regris lunged at him like an angry cat, but Antok easily held him at bay with one arm.  “Frickin’... the  _ ten o’clock news _ ??  Come on!  We were watching America’s Funniest Home Videos!”    

Keith snorted at their continued scuffle over the remote and rubbed his towel over his hair to dry it.  Regris, having lost the battle and also having no interest in the evening news, wandered over and flopped onto the bed beside him.  “You still cool bunking with me?” He checked.  

Keith shrugged.  “I don’t mind.”  

“Regris is a notorious cuddler.”  Thace piped up from the sink next to the bathroom, the words muffled around his toothbrush.  

“I once woke up to him with my mohawk in his mouth and pushing Antok off the bed.”  Ulaz added dryly. “For the record, he was supposed to stay in his sleeping bag on the floor, yet somehow ended up between us on the bed.”  

“That’s your fault, for making me sleep on the stinky hotel floor.”  Regris chucked a pillow at him. Ulaz caught the fluffy projectile easily and tucked it under his chin where he was stretched out on another bed watching TV.  Regris flipped him the bird before turning back to Keith. “I can try and keep my distance, if you want. We can put up a pillow wall between us -- there’s certainly enough here to spare.”  

“That’s fine.”  Keith dug through his backpack for his toothbrush.  He knew Regris had a boyfriend  _ and  _ a girlfriend, that he was in a pretty serious relationship with.  It didn’t take much to get him to start gushing about how talented of a hairdresser Vrek was or how proud he was of Ilun (who, ironically, worked at a laser tattoo removal place, despite having a number of Regris originals under her shirt).  Keith didn’t think he would try anything with him.  

Two hours, an absurd amount of people showering, and one lengthy battle over the thermostat later, Kolivan was declaring lights out, as they all had to be up early the next day.  He and Antok took the bed beside the window (and the air conditioning vents, as they had been captains of the victorious “sleep is best at colder temperatures” team), with Thace and Ulaz in the center bed, and Regris and Keith in the bed beside the bathroom wall.  Ulaz and Keith had been outmatched in the thermostat battle, so the vents by the window were blasting cold air into the room. Ulaz had raided the spare blankets in the closet to make himself into a burrito, and Keith said he was fine sleeping in his sweatshirt (privately thinking it was fortunate that the bulky article of clothing hid his chest better anyway).  He and Regris built a little wall between them with the leftover pillows, with Regris keeping one to himself to hug in an attempt to prevent him from seeking out something else in his sleep, and everyone settled down and went to sleep.  

Some hours later, however, Keith woke up to the feeling of being much warmer than he had been before.  The pillow wall had been dismantled. Keith could vaguely see one propped up against the wall in front of him, and thought he could feel another down by his feet.  Regris was holding onto him much like his earlier pillow, with his arms around Keith’s middle and spooning him from behind, one skull-patterned pajama-clad leg tossed over his own, with his face pressed into Keith’s hair.  And something wet and slimy dripping down the back of his neck.  

Keith reached over his shoulder and pushed Regris’s face away from him.  “Dude. You’re drooling.” He hissed.  

Regris woke up with a sleepy, confused sound.  “Hmh? Oh, shit, sorry man.” He grabbed the edge of the hotel comforter and wiped the back of Keith’s neck off, then looped his arm around his waist again, apparently intent on going back to sleep right there.  Keith said nothing, and a long minute later, Regris seemed to regain enough lucidity to realize what he was doing. “...Or do you want me to move?” He asked.  

Keith thought about it.  This… wasn’t bad. “Nah. You’re warm, at least.”  Antok, Kolivan, and Thace were probably penguins in disguise, to sleep comfortably in a room this cold.  But it was actually nice with someone warm clinging to his back.  

“Mm.”  Regris hummed sleepily in agreement.  

“Would Vrek and Ilun be fine with this?”  Keith asked.  

“Mmhm.  They’re chill with it.  They sleep with me so they know what I’m like.”  Regris chuckled. He was quiet for a minute, then spoke up again.  “What about your boyfriend?”  

Keith opened his eyes and stared at the dark wall in front of him, lit only by a sliver of moonlight that had managed to sneak between the drawn curtains.  He couldn’t think of the last time Sendak had held him like this. Anytime he wrapped an arm around him, it felt… possessive. Like he was staking a claim, rather than just enjoying the comfort of a partner beside him.  And his hands usually didn’t linger like this -- he squeezed and groped and delved his hand under Keith’s clothes to get whatever he wanted. He almost always wanted something from him, and when he didn’t, he basically ignored Keith until he wanted something else.  

Keith shook his head.  “He doesn’t care,”  _ about me…  _ he left unsaid, but somehow he could still hear the words in the silence that followed.  The realization had been creeping up on him for some time now, but here in the dark hotel room miles away, with his friend’s arm around his waist and his warmth at his back, Keith couldn’t deny it any longer.  The ache in his heart that had been hiding there for so long finally burst through, painful and raw, and he squeezed his eyes shut to press back the moisture he felt building there.  

Regris was quiet for so long, Keith thought he had fallen asleep again.  Then Antok let out an almighty snore in the corner, and Keith felt Regris huff out a quiet laugh that ghosted over the back of his neck. 

“It’s like trying to sleep at a truck stop.”  He muttered into Keith’s hair. On the other side of the room, Kolivan rolled over and began snoring as well.  Thace hadn’t stopped since the beginning, but at least his were quieter, like a low freight train rumbling in the distance rather than the downshifting truck noises coming from the other two.  Maybe because his snores were muffled in the pillow he was sleeping face-down on (which explained why his hair always looked the way it did, sticking up to either side of his head).  

Keith laughed softly in agreement.  This many guys in the same small room was bound to be a little noisy, even at night.

A few minutes later, Regris’s breathing evened out behind him and his arm grew heavy and limp around Keith’s middle.  Keith floated somewhere just on the edge of sleep, the hold around his waist the only thing keeping him tethered to consciousness.  He hadn’t expected this to feel so… nice. Easy. Warm, not just on the surface temperature but somewhere deep in his chest. Maybe it was because he trusted Regris -- the litany of ink and piercings decorating his skin done by his hand stood as a testament to that.  They were friends. Regris didn’t want anything from him. It felt safe. Was this how it was supposed to feel, to sleep with someone?

It was ironic, Keith mused as he drifted off, that he had to leave his boyfriend’s bed to realize this.        

~~~~~~~

December came and passed without much fanfare.  They set a little mini plastic Christmas tree on the front desk at the studio and decorated it with captive bead rings from their piercing collection, a flash tattoo star paperclipped to the top (the same star, Keith noticed, that had mentally scarred him when he was still new to the job).  Other than the cups from his studio coffee runs changing to a festive red, that was pretty much the extent of Keith’s Christmas celebration. No presents, no decorations at home… but none of that was out of the ordinary for him. 

On the one hand, things were going really good for Keith.  He now had a full-time job, higher pay, was already starting to see changes in his body from the hormones, and had a small but growing collection of tattoos and a handful more piercings.  Kolivan was still very firm in the belief that it was best to let the body rest and recuperate between tattoos, so he hadn’t gotten many yet, but he loved the ones he had and couldn’t wait to get more.  He was really starting to look like he worked in a tattoo parlor, finally. And, in a way, it felt a little like he was reclaiming his own body. For years, he had had no control over what marks were put on him, from cigarette burns as ‘punishments’ at the hands of cruel foster parents to bruises and hickeys he didn’t want his boyfriend to leave on him.  He still couldn’t stop those, no matter how much he asked Sendak not to do it. But deciding what marks  _ he  _ wanted on his body was a welcome change that brought an endorphin rush of its own, in addition to the adrenaline rush of getting the tattoo itself.

And that, right there, was the other hand of the matter.  It was getting harder and harder to be around Sendak, and Keith felt a strange mix of relief and shame whenever Sendak stayed out day after day.  Relief, because he didn’t have to deal with the heavy, threatening silence, or tiptoe around his quick-to-change mood, or have to let Sendak hold him too tightly when he fucked him too hard, too fast.  Shame, because he knew by now that Sendak had to be seeking out other people besides Keith for sex. He still came to him when it was convenient, but it was obvious it was a strict fulfillment of needs rather than love or interest.  And as much as it hurt, it also scared Keith to death. It was like being trapped between a rock and a hard place; every fiber of his being felt nauseated at the prospect of letting Sendak have him, but the sick, cold knowledge that he would just go to someone else… and how many times of that before Sendak didn’t bother to use a condom or slept with the wrong person, and came home only to pass on an STI to Keith?  The fear took hold of his heart and squeezed around him like a fist, and it got to the point where anytime Sendak fucked him, Keith would take a trip to the clinic and get tested, just in case. He was scared, and he didn’t want this, but he couldn’t just leave. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. And wasn’t this his fault? For not being good enough? He felt like he had to stay, to try and fix this.

Keith knew relationships were about give and take.  Compromise. Putting someone else first, because you loved them.  Everyone said that; you couldn’t be selfish in a relationship.

Keith wanted to be selfish, just once.  

He did it in small, subtle ways.  Volunteering for shifts when he thought Sendak would be at home more.  Cooking what  _ he  _ wanted to eat.  Locking the bathroom door when he showered, so Sendak couldn’t slip in behind him.  Getting as many tattoos as frequently as he could, and in between them, letting the Blades practice on him with the non-permanent ink to fill the canvas of his arms and legs and across his collarbones, without a care for what his boyfriend thought.  Truthfully, he didn’t know if Sendak even noticed.  

Keith lay curled up on his side in bed one night, Sendak on his phone behind him.  His hands were lying on the bed beside his head, and he gingerly touched the mottled, reddening ring wrapping around his left wrist, its twin on the right.  That wasn’t so unusual, but getting bruise on top of bruise really hurt. And tonight, his cheek and the thin skin beside his eye throbbed and stung, not just on the surface but all the way down to the depths of his heart.  A kind of hurt that might not leave a bruise, but would stay with him for a long time all the same.  

He had hit him, tonight.  Actually hit him during sex.  And then brushed it off as  _ ‘just kinky shit’ _ when Keith had frozen and stared at him, hand pressed to his cheek as the slap knocked any flimsy attempt at arousal away and left him feeling cold with shock.  

_ “Thought you liked that pain shit, since you stab yourself with needles all day long.”  _  Sendak had told him before capturing Keith’s wrists and wrenching him back towards him.  

That was different, Keith thought.  That was controlled -- he  _ asked  _ for it.  And it wasn’t when he was naked and vulnerable in his own bedroom.  The low buzz of dull pain from the needle wasn’t anything like a slap.  Not when the hands holding it and his arm were so gentle and careful as they worked.  

A rustle of fabric behind him brought him out of his thoughts, and Keith stopped poking at the finger-shaped bruises around his wrists as he felt a thick arm snake around his waist.  He let him do it, because he was sore and tired and just done with everything. It hurt too much to fight.  

Sendak pulled him closer, breath tickling the back of his neck.  “How many more of these you gonna get?” He asked, flicking the tattoo on Keith’s inner forearm hard enough that the nail bit into his skin.  It was healed plenty, but the hard flick still hurt.  

“I don’t know.”  Keith said truthfully.  “Still got plenty of empty skin left.”  

Sendak snorted derisively.  Like Keith had said something stupid enough to be funny.  “You should stop now, before you end up with more ink than skin.”

Keith didn’t say anything.  Maybe if he was covered in art, there wouldn’t be room for bruises.  Or, at least he wouldn’t have to see them.  

Sendak pulled back just enough to slide his hand around Keith’s side, pushing the sheet off his waist and making goosebumps pimple across his ribs.  A sharp nail dragged over the skin at the small of his back. “You can get one more -- one that says  _ Sendak’s bitch _ , right here -- then you’re done.”  

The only way that would be his last tattoo would be if it was over his dead body.  “A tramp stamp?” He asked dryly. The others had pressed it into him that that was  _ not  _ what it should be called in a professional setting, but he couldn’t help being a little cynical here in private.  

“Would suit you.”  Sendak chuckled and squeezed a handful of his ass.  “Besides, I think you need to be reminded that you’ve got a man fucking you.  You’re looking more and more like a dyke every day.”  

Keith’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he held his tongue.  He still hadn’t told Sendak he started testosterone. He didn’t even get the doses delivered to Sendak’s apartment anymore; Kolivan let him ship the packages straight to the studio so he could use their disinfectant and dispose of the needle in their hazardous waste bin, to keep everything sterile.  Sendak didn’t seem to notice or care. Other than one barbed inquiry about  _ “the fuck is up with your throat?  You sound like you’re smoking a pack a day…”  _ he didn’t seem to have noticed any of the changes -- the same changes that Keith himself felt a sense of victory when they finally came around.  Keith told himself if Sendak didn’t care to notice, then he wouldn’t bother to tell him. But a small, dark, deep part of his heart wondered if he kept his mouth shut because he was afraid of what Sendak would do if he found out.  He was pretty vocal about not liking other, more obvious changes to his body.

“Thought you wouldn’t have a problem with the tattoos,” Keith said quietly.  “Since now it’s pretty obvious you aren’t fucking a minor.”  

Sendak scoffed and rolled away from him.  In the wardrobe mirror across from him, Keith watched him sit up and pick up his jeans where they were lying on the ground beside the bed.  “I never cared about that. You were hotter back then, anyway. Before you started stabbing ink and metal and shit into your body and ruining it.”  

Keith looked down at the bruise that had formed on his forearm from a few nights ago, the purple color staining his mother’s knife.  As Sendak left and he heard the crack of a beer tab and the sound of the TV out in the living room, Keith couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t just the tattoos that made him less appealing since he turned eighteen.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Sendak is nasty and he definitely figured out Keith was a minor pretty early on. He sought him out when he thought he just looked young, and when he figured out he really was that young, he just didn’t have a problem with it.
> 
> I actually wrote part 1-2 _after_ I wrote part 3 (idk dude, blame the ADHD, I skip around a lot when I write… that’s why it takes me so long to finish things) so tbh that scene with Keith and Regris healed my soul after writing that depressing part 3. I would pay for some platonic friendly cuddles any day.
> 
> Fun fact, if Regris ever met Sendak he would be _appalled_ , because he’s the closest in age to Keith at the parlor (24 to Keith’s 18) and even _he_ can’t imagine dating someone Keith’s age (and he’s not even quite as old as Sendak). He loves Keith and cares a lot about him because they’re friends, but he just can’t fathom dating someone his age. If he ever met the guy or got wind of just how old he is, it would send up an immediate red flag in Regris’s mind. 
> 
> There will be a typical chapter-specific content warning on the next one, but as a pre-emptive warning: **the next chapter will be a lot of hurt/comfort.** I think if you’ve made it this far you can tell that things are going sour, and even Keith sees it now. That’s gonna all come to a head next chapter (but, luckily, he’s going to get out of it, and there will be a few chapters of healing before the much more light-hearted sequel)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ding-dong, here's the Big Angst™ chapter. The good news is that things can only get better from here.
> 
>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** some blood in part 2. Mentions of drunkenness and abuse, though not explicitly shown (Keith talks about it in part 3, so the reader sees it second-hand but not as it happens). The abuse has come to a tipping point here and the effects are seen throughout the chapter.

“Dude, come on, you’re a tattoo place, I want a tattoo, what’s the problem?”  

Ulaz grit his teeth and tried not to sigh.  “I apologize, sir, but it is against our studio’s policy to tattoo people under the influence.  Not only is it unsafe, but there is an overwhelming tendency for the customer to regret the piece and be unhappy with it.”

The guy and his friend laughed.  “Nah, man, you don’t get it. I’m totally fine!  No way I’m gonna regret this!”  

“Then I would invite you to make an appointment for tomorrow--”

“But I’m here now!”  The man grinned vacantly behind the alcohol glazing his eyes.  “So how’s about you just forget about that ‘company policy’ for a little bit, eh?”  He winked and slid a twenty dollar bill across the reception desk.

Ulaz’s lips pulled down into a frown, actually insulted.  “You have no idea what our rates are, do you?” He asked flatly.  

The man blinked, the words sluggishly getting to his brain through the booze, then he slid another ten on top of the twenty.  His friend muffled hysterical giggles with his hand behind the would-be client.  

Ulaz placed two fingers on the bills and pushed them back across the countertop.  “I make more than that in tips. Please make an appointment for a later date, or leave this establishment.”  

The guy’s happy-go-lucky expression twisted into confused anger.  “You know what, I’m just gonna take my money and go to a _better_ tattoo joint with better customer service, who will give me what I want.”  He snatched up the paltry bills. “Your loss, old man.”  

“It’s a pretty established norm to not tattoo a customer under the influence of drugs or alcohol.”  Thace pointed out as the two headed for the door. “You would be hard pressed in this town to find any respectable establishment willing to do it.”  

“I bet we can!”  The man’s friend flipped him off as he passed.  

“Don’t come crying to us for a cover-up, then.”  Antok crossed his arms and glared at them as they left, the door swinging shut behind them.

“I detest New Year’s Eve.”  Ulaz grumbled. They had been the fourth drunk walk-in of the night.  In addition to a few drunk appointments, but at least they had discussed and finalized their designs in advance when they were sober.  Ulaz rubbed his forehead. “Too many people drinking too much alcohol and making stupid decisions.”

“Agreed.”  Kolivan nodded grimly.  

“And wanting _YOLO_ inked across both ass-cheeks?”  Antok added from the corner. “Takes the cake on stupid drunk ideas.”

“Probably someone’s initials or something.”  Kolivan sighed.  

“It means ‘ _you only live once_ ’.”  Thace said, not looking up from his sketchbook until he noticed the rest of them looking at him.  He blinked impassively. “It’s all the rage among the fourth-graders.” He explained dryly.  

Ulaz snorted.

“Speaking of kids, what are ours up to tonight?”  Antok asked Kolivan.

“Not sure.”  Kolivan shrugged.  “Regris asked for time off tonight, so I’d wager he’s at a party.  Keith wasn’t scheduled today anyway.” Since the majority of their business tended to take place on weekends, the shop remained open six days a week.  They were closed on Wednesdays, and each full-time employee had one other day off in addition.

“Regris had better not show up hungover tomorrow.”  Ulaz muttered darkly. “I have dealt with enough drunkards in the past day already.”  

The next hour or so passed in relative quietness.  The handful of clients that were scheduled today had already come in earlier in the day, so there wasn’t much to do.  At midnight, the four of them popped open bottles of sparkling cranberry cider and watched the fireworks on the news in the breakroom, the booms and pops echoing distantly from downtown.  It seemed not even the light rain that had started up was dampening the city’s New Year’s spirit. Antok lamented he had no one to kiss at midnight, and Thace -- up much later than he usually was and quite tired -- unthinkingly pecked him on the cheek, then left to lie down in the tattooing chair in the back room for a quick nap due to the absence of any clients and the fact that “the midnight fuss is over”.  

Ulaz had his chin in his hand and elbow propped on the desk as he flipped an insertion pin in his hand out of boredom, Antok had started rearranging the studs on display into rainbow order, and Kolivan was contemplating calling it quits for the night and closing up shop early when his phone began to buzz in his pocket.  

He pulled it out and looked down at the name on the screen, curiosity piqued, and lifted the phone to his ear as he picked up the call.  “Keith?”  

There was silence on the other end.  Ulaz had stopped playing with the piercing tools and was watching him, no doubt concerned when Kolivan’s brow furrowed in confusion at the silence.  “Keith, are you there?” He asked again. 

“Butt dial?”  Antok wondered aloud in a whisper, but Kolivan felt his heart stop at a soft, shuddery breath on the other end.

“Keith?  Are you alright?”  Kolivan pressed the phone harder against his ear, struggling to hear even the tiniest sound from the other end of the line.  

“Kolivan…”  He had never heard a voice sound more broken and scared, and it shook him to his core.  “I… I need help.”  

He was on his feet in an instant.  “I’m coming. Where are you?” In the agonizing silence before Keith answered, Kolivan saw Ulaz and Antok both straighten up, serious and tense.  They must have seen and heard the change in his demeanor.  

“The… the park on Seventh and Rift Street.”  Keith said with a wet sniffle. “...’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay, Keith.”  He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, or if it was just for the sake of apologizing alone.  Kolivan grabbed his coat and his keys. “I’m coming, just stay there.”  

“Okay.”  Keith’s voice was so quiet, he could barely hear him.  

Kolivan glanced at the other two Blades, caught between wanting to stop and explain himself to them, versus the knowledge that he should get to Keith as soon as possible.  Luckily, the others seemed to sense this; Ulaz nodded and shooed him off, and Antok was already heading to the back to wake Thace. Kolivan dipped his head in thanks before rushing out the door, uncaring of the rain falling outside.  He propped his phone between his shoulder and ear as he unlocked his car. “Keith, are you still there?”  

There was a worrying moment of silence, then a quiet “yeah.”  

“I’m on my way now.”  Kolivan told him. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you while I drive?”

“Phone’s almost dead.”  Keith mumbled.  

“Alright.  You can hang up if you want to save some battery.  I’m on my way and I will find you, don’t worry.” Kolivan said, starting his car.  “Call me back if you need to. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”  

“Okay.”  Keith drew in a shuddery breath.  A moment later, there was a click and the line went silent.

Kolivan switched on his ringer in case he called back, tossed the phone on the seat beside him, and threw the gear into drive.  

~~~~~~~

The park in question wasn’t far from where Kolivan knew Keith lived, perhaps only a mile away.  It wasn’t even much of a park -- just a few shady trees, grass that was sparse and patchy from the winter weather, a tall steel slide that frappuccino-sipping young mothers insisted was “an unsafe eyesore”, and a set of two rusty swings with slices of dirt carved under them.  The whole park took up about a single lot wedged between a couple of run-down apartment complexes, so Kolivan didn’t have to search much to find the boy waiting there for him. He found him sitting on the swings, leaning the side of his head against the old chain and pushing himself just a few inches back and forth, back and forth, almost hypnotically.  One hand was curled around the swing chain near his chin, the other was wrapped tightly around his own waist. He didn’t seem to care about the rain dripping down on him, or perhaps was too far gone in his head to notice. Save for a brief flick of his eyes when Kolivan stepped out of his car and shut the door, he didn’t even look up as the other man jogged over to him.  

“Keith?”  Kolivan bent down a little to get a look at his face when he reached him.  There was a long, blistered-red burn slashed across his cheek and a heavy bruise over his brow peeking out between soaked strands of hair.  He was dressed in only a pair of threadbare sweatpants and a short-sleeved t-shirt, the gray turned almost black from the rain. He was barefoot, and his feet and the cuffs of his sweatpants were covered in mud.  

“Keith…” Kolivan sank to a crouch in front of him.  “What happened?”  

Keith was silent for a long minute.  Kolivan knew better than to rush him, but he also knew he had to get him out of the rain soon. 

Keith’s gaze fell from staring blankly in front of him to looking down at his lap.  Kolivan followed his gaze and saw Keith take his arm away from where it was pressed to his stomach.  His heart dropped into his gut at the sight; there was a jagged gash dragged across his right forearm, the cut bisecting the tattoo of his mother’s knife at an angle.  Bright red blood was painted across his skin like watercolor ink, splotchy and runny from the rain.  

“Can I see?”  Kolivan asked, and Keith wordlessly offered out his arm.  Kolivan took it carefully in his hands. Keith’s skin was cold to the touch, and he hated to think how long he had been sitting out here before he called Kolivan.  The older man swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and examined the wound. It was shallow, thankfully, but bleeding sluggishly. It didn’t seem to have struck any arteries.  Had it been only a few inches lower, or just a bit deeper, Kolivan wasn’t sure Keith would still be alive.  

“What happened, Keith?”  Kolivan asked again, looking up at the boy.  

Keith didn’t say anything, and somehow, Kolivan wasn’t surprised.  

He took a deep breath and released a heavy sigh.  What had happened wasn’t as important as what state Keith was currently in, and what Kolivan could do for him.  “Can I help you back to the car?” He asked.  

Without a word, Keith stood up and wrapped his arms around himself, shoulders hunched and drawn up to his ears.  Kolivan unzipped his coat and slipped it off quickly, laying it over thin, shivering shoulders, but he knew the coat would only do so much as long as he was still soaking wet.  He needed to get dried off and warmed up as soon as possible.  

After getting the boy into the front passenger seat of his car and buckling him in -- Keith made no move to do up the belt himself, and Kolivan didn’t have time to wait for him to do it -- he shut the door and ran around to the driver’s side, grimacing as he saw Keith jump and squeeze his eyes shut at the loud noise through the window.

“I’m sorry about the noise.”  Kolivan apologized immediately as soon as he got into the driver’s seat.  He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket. Other than being in his pocket all day, he knew it was clean.  “May I see your arm again?”  

Keith didn’t acknowledge the apology, but he did work his arm out from Kolivan’s coat and offered it up again.  Kolivan carefully dabbed at the rainwater around the wound to dry it, then refolded the handkerchief and wrapped it securely around his arm to keep pressure on the wound.  It wasn’t much, but it would do until they could get back to the shop.

Kolivan turned on the car and blasted the heat as high as it could go without fogging up his windshield, then fired off a quick text to Antok to throw some clothes into the dryer, make something hot to drink, and get the first aid kit ready.  

He glanced over at Keith as he pulled away from the curb and began driving back to the studio.  The boy had the side of his forehead leaned against the window, his eyes closed. His expression was drawn like a window shuttered before a storm.  As if he was holding back a flood of emotions, and at the same time, was dried up of any and all emotions he had once had. 

~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, they were back at the studio with the sign flipped to closed despite the lights still being on.  The front of the shop was vacant, all of them huddled in the break room.

Keith was bundled up in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt, both bearing the Blade of Marmora’s logo in an artistic design on the left breast and down one leg -- items taken from their merch stash that had been thrown in the back room dryer before Kolivan had returned with Keith.  His hair was still damp, but no longer dripping after he had rubbed it over with a towel. There was a warm cup of tea in his hands, but he hadn’t drank more than a few sips despite their prodding. The burn on his cheek was shiny and wet-looking after having been slathered in antibiotic ointment.  His arm had already been cleaned and bandaged after Ulaz assessed it and determined that he did not need stitches (although, he did encourage following up with a doctor the next day just to be safe), and Ulaz was now seated on the floor in front of Keith with the first-aid kit open beside him, tending to the few cuts on his bare feet.  Kolivan sat in the chair beside him at the table, silently worrying over the fact that Keith had not uttered a single sound since he found him. The most acknowledgement of his surroundings that he had given was offering the wounds to Ulaz when asked to, and one nervous flick of his eyes towards Antok as the man paced away his anxiety in the corner.  At a look from the others, Antok had taken a seat on the couch pushed against the wall of the break room and made an effort to contain himself so as not to startle the boy. Thace had draped his own warm wool coat over Keith’s shoulders to replace Kolivan’s now-soaked jacket, and had pressed the cup of tea into his hand with a soft but firm request to drink.  Keith had obeyed, but took only a few sips before lowering the cup and shaking his head. Thace had offered him a small, sad smile and squeezed his hand gently before gathering up the soaked articles of clothing and taking them to the back hallway where they kept a small washer and dryer for cleaning rags and such.  

Ulaz finished with his feet and privately lamented that they had no spare shoes or even socks to give him.  The cuts were small and probably hadn’t _needed_ to be wrapped this extensively in bandages, but in lieu of any other footwear, it was the best they could do.  He looked up. “Have you any other injuries?”  

Keith hesitated for a long minute, then lifted the edge of his borrowed shirt and bared a smattering of large, darkening bruises painted across his ribs and side like deadly flowers.  Kolivan took a deep breath to calm himself as his heart sank. Over on the couch, Antok crossed his arms, and Kolivan noticed him gripping his own shirt as if to hold himself back from bursting out in anger.  He was glad -- such an outburst would only frighten Keith more.  

Ulaz, to his credit, gave no outward reaction other than a nod and moving closer to examine the bruises.  He was quite used to keeping a professional exterior even when seeing something disturbing, so as not to cause the person more worry.  “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do for bruising. Unless you think a bone has been broken?” When Keith shook his head slightly, Ulaz went on.  “All we could do is ice the area to reduce inflammation, but I cannot recommend that at the moment. Not until you warm up a bit more.”

Keith let his shirt fall back into place without a word.  Ulaz closed up the first-aid kit, got to his feet, and crossed the room to the kitchenette along the far wall to wash his hands.  Keith went back to staring vacantly into his cup of tea, hands wrapped around it. There was bruising on his knuckles, Kolivan noticed.  Perhaps he had gotten in a few punches himself, during… whatever had happened.  

“Keith.”  Kolivan called his name to catch his attention.  The boy didn’t look up; other than a barely-perceivable shift in his eyes from vacant to alert, he didn’t react much to his name.  Kolivan leaned his forearms on the table and watched his face carefully. “I know it must be hard to talk about. Perhaps you are still processing what happened, yourself.  But I would really like you to try and tell us what happened to you. You don’t have to tell us everything, if you don’t want to. But in order for us to help you, we need to know what you need help with.”  

Keith rubbed his thumb against the ceramic of the mug in his hands, silent as ever.  

Kolivan gave him a few minutes before he tried again.  “Keith, please. I know how you’re feeling, but--”

“You don’t.”  The words sounded rusty after so long in silence.  Keith didn’t look up from his tea as he spoke. “You can’t know how I feel.”  

“Perhaps not exactly.”  Kolivan admitted. “Everyone processes things differently.  But I know a few things that I feel it is safe to assume you feel as well, or have felt in the past.”  He hesitated, then took a deep breath and went on. It was hard to talk about it, he knew. But he also knew how realizing one wasn’t alone eased the pain just a little.  And right now, that outweighed Kolivan’s discomfort at baring his own old wounds.  

“I know how it feels to be scared, and hurt.  Hurt by someone who was supposed to love you.”  Kolivan looked down, even as he felt Keith’s eyes slide over to watch him carefully.  “I know what it feels like to have your bodily autonomy stripped away from you. I know how hard it is to feel like yourself in your own skin.  What it feels like to feel everything and nothing all at once, and to wonder if you’re even _you_ anymore, or if there ever was a you to begin with.”  He made himself look up and meet Keith’s eyes. “I see myself in you, Keith.  More than I want to. But that’s how I know that you can overcome this. I _know_ you can.  But I also know how hard it is to do that, and how long it takes.  And how vital it is to have people around you who love you, _truly love_ you, who will support you every step.  Even if some of those steps go backwards or stall for a bit, we’ll be right there with you.  But that means you have to reach out and try to take the hand we’re holding out. You have to tell us what you need.  Do you think you can do that?”  

Keith swallowed hard.  “...I can try.”  

Kolivan offered him a smile.  Sad, but genuine. “That’s good.  That’s all we’re asking.”

Thace returned to the table with a cup of water from the sink and set it beside Keith’s hand with a quiet _tap_ of glass against wood.  Keith looked up in surprise, but Thace just gave him a small smile.  “I thought perhaps you didn’t care for tea, and would prefer water.” He explained.

“Yeah…” Keith looked down.  “...Sorry.”  

“No need to apologize.”  Thace reassured him. “Just wanted you to have options.”  

Keith lifted the glass to his lips and drank about half of it.  He set the glass down once more and wrapped his hands around the still-warm mug of tea in front of him, apparently preferring the heat of it to the taste.  

“I don’t know what I did.”  Keith started. “I feel like… I didn’t do anything wrong.  But I must have, for him to have done that.”  

It wasn’t anything close to the whole story.  It was only a few puzzle pieces, some upside-down or turned the wrong way, but they were out on the table where they could begin to be put into place.  

Kolivan hummed thoughtfully.  “No one deserves to be hurt, Keith.  I am sure you did nothing wrong.”  

“I didn’t try to.”  Keith tightened his grip on the warm mug.  “He came home, and I could tell he was angry.  I don’t know what about. He was drunk, too. More than normal.  I tried to be quiet and stay out of the way, just make him his dinner and disappear, but… I dropped a dish, while I was washing them.  I didn’t mean to. It just slipped, and...” His expression shut down for a moment, eyes falling closed at the memory. “It was like time stopped for a second.  Then he was yelling, and hitting me -- I-I don’t even remember him crossing the room, he was just _there_ suddenly -- and he threw the broken plate at me.  Screamed that all the fucking ink I put in my blood was finally poisoning my brain.”  The words dropped from his lips, bitter and short, and Kolivan got the sense he was parrotting the words that must have been said to him, rather than having come from his heart.  

Keith took a deep breath before he went on.  “He said if I never started poisoning myself, I’d be fine.  Then he… he grabbed one of the pieces of the broken plate, and…” he trailed off and just held out his right arm, turning it to show the white bandage covering the wound.  “I think I tried to fight back -- I don’t remember, all I remember is red. The next thing I knew, he had grabbed the pan off the stove and smashed it into my face.” He pointed to the burn on his cheek.  “It hurt so much, more than the cut even. I thought he broke my neck, for a moment. I think I ran, then. I just remember wanting to get away, and then I was out on the street and the rain was cold enough to… I-I don’t know, shake me out of whatever had me.  I didn’t know what to do, so I kept running until… until I couldn’t anymore. Like whatever was pushing me to run just left suddenly, and all I could feel was tired, empty. I was at the park, so I sat down. I don't know for how long -- I think I wasn't really there the whole time, mentally.  I started getting cold, really cold. I didn’t know what else to do. That’s when I called you.” He looked up at Kolivan finally. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.  

“It’s alright, Keith.”  Kolivan took his hand. “I’m glad that you called me.  I’m proud of you. Thank you, for telling us that. I know it’s hard.”  

Keith slumped back against the chair.  He had a bit more color in his skin now that he had warmed up, but he looked more drained and exhausted than ever before.  

“You should get some rest.”  Kolivan told him gently. “You are welcome to my house for as long as you need.  Or I am sure the others would be happy to have you, if you want other options.”

The three artists gathered around the room nodded and offered reassurances that he was welcome to any of their homes as well.  

Keith was quiet for a moment, then looked to Kolivan.  “Thank you.”  

Kolivan smiled softly.  “Why don’t you finish that water, then we’ll get going, okay?”  

Keith nodded and reached for the glass, draining the other half of the cool water while Kolivan got his keys out and went to get the car ready.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From chapter 11 onward (into the sequel), Sendak will be out of the picture. Or rather, Sendak himself will be out of the picture, but the lasting effects of Keith’s relationship with him will still be present for a while. It’ll still be a long road to recovery. But the sequel will be much more light-hearted, with only sprinklings of angst. It will also feature sheith! (...which was my original endgame for this AU, but me being me, I got lost in the backstory and… well, here we are)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** mentions of past child sexual abuse in the beginning (this chapter ended up not being divided into parts, sorry), dealing with the aftermath effects of abuse, and attempted (but not completed) dub-con because Keith just really, _really_ needs a hug and doesn’t know it’s that simple (good thing Kolivan keeps a clear head).

Keith was quiet during the drive back to Kolivan’s house.  He leaned the side of his forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the droplets of rainwater run in rivulets along the window.  

“You said you knew how I felt.”  Keith spoke up while they were stopped at a red light.  “How?”  

Kolivan couldn’t fault him for wondering, after the little speech he gave earlier.  If he wanted Keith to be honest with him, he knew he would have to be honest in return.  

“I was molested when I was a teenager, by a member of my own family.”  Kolivan told him frankly. Ten years ago, he might have danced around the subject, spinning it in a way that muddled the events until they were appropriate for polite conversation.  Ten years before that, he might not have said anything. But he knew now that no amount of avoiding the subject or burying it would change what had happened. Not for him, and not for Keith.  Kolivan watched the raindrops drip down his windshield, meandering paths that changed with little rhyme or reason. “It happened when I was sixteen and seventeen. A few years younger than you are now.”  

The light changed and Kolivan reached for the gear-shift.  “You are right -- it is not quite the same as what you have been through.  But it was something terrible that happened to me when I was young. Something that was outside my control, yet I spent many years believing was my fault.  It affected my actions and my ways of thinking deeply, for a very long time. In that way, I believe we are similar.”

“I’m sorry.”  Keith said quietly.  There was a beat of silence, then he grimaced.  “I-- I’m sorry, I hate it when people say that to me.  Like they have any idea what I went through. I didn’t mean it like that.  I just… that sucks. I don’t know what else to say. That just, that really sucks.”  

Kolivan nodded, understanding completely.  “It does.” He turned the car onto his street.  “If it helps, I don’t know what else to say, either.  Perhaps that’s why people apologize, because we don’t have the words to express our feelings.  ‘ _ I’m sorry _ ’ can mean a lot of things -- simple pity, regret, a wish to change… sometimes it’s just what you think you’re supposed to say.”  

Keith nodded, remembering all the times those two words had fallen from his lips without meaning, just because he thought they could mend a problem he wasn’t even certain of, but was certain it was his fault (it was always his fault).  Empty shells against bullets. A white flag thrown up when the battle was still brewing, before everything had a chance to explode. A hollow shield. 

Kolivan pulled the car into his driveway, the vehicle jostling slightly and seeming to bring Keith out of his daze.  The boy blinked as he looked out the front window. “You have a house?”

“Indeed.”  Kolivan slowed the car to a stop in his driveway and put it in park.  “You sound surprised?”

Keith lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.  “I guess I just assumed you lived in an apartment.  Like me. Don’t know why I thought that.”

“Well, I am in my mid-forties and own my own small business.”  Kolivan chuckled. “Eventually I got tired of having to pay rent to someone, so I bought a house.  It’s small, but I hope you can feel comfortable here.”  

Keith was still looking thoughtfully at the house.  “I don’t remember the last time I stayed in an actual house that wasn’t shared with multiple families.”  He mused quietly. “Maybe… not since my dad died.”  

The two of them hurried inside out of the rain.   Kolivan stepped out of his shoes and left them by the front door as they entered, and Keith wiped his bare feet off on the door rug as best he could.

“I have a guest room,” Kolivan said, hanging his coat up and reaching to take Keith’s borrowed jacket from Thace.  “I just need to move a few things off the bed -- was using it for storage but of course I don’t need to.”

“Sorry.”  There it was again, out of his mouth before his brain could stop it.  

Kolivan slid him a soft, knowing look.  “It’s alright.” He hung both coats up to dry and headed for the guest room.  

“Or,” Keith’s voice behind him made him stop and look back over his shoulder.  Keith was looking down and away, brow furrowed in thought. “Or, you… don’t have to.  I can just… sleep with you.”  

Kolivan was surprised.  And, slightly horrified, once the implication sank in.  Surely he didn’t mean it like that? “No, Keith, that is absolutely not necessary--”

“I have to pay you back somehow.”  Keith lifted his eyes to meet Kolivan’s, his features set in a determined look bordering on a glare.  “It’s not like I can help with rent, if you don’t pay rent to anyone. So let me do this. I know a bed doesn’t come free.”  

“This one does.”  Kolivan told him. “I have a guest room.  The bed is already there. You don’t need to do anything except sleep in it.”

“I have to do  _ something _ .”  Keith insisted.  “And this is what I’m good at, apparently.  So let me do it.”

“Keith, I am old enough to be your father.”  Kolivan reminded him patiently.  

“So?  Never stopped anyone else.”  Keith said. “At least I’m legal now.”  

Kolivan shook his head.  “It wouldn’t be right. Your sense of logic is extremely skewed at the moment, you cannot possibly make a rational decision about this--”

“Yes I can.  I’m  _ fine _ .”  Keith’s hands curled into fists at his sides.  His eyes were still rimmed with red and had begun shining again, and his shoulders were drawn and tense.  He didn’t look remotely close to being ‘fine’. “I’m telling you, I want it. Besides, I trust you. I know you’ll make it good and won’t hurt me.”

“Of course I would not hurt you.”  Kolivan said firmly. “Because we’re not doing it.”  He didn’t know how it had come to this -- his employee, who he viewed as a son, propositioning him for sex in return for a place to stay.  That Keith even viewed this as necessary made him sick to his stomach and squeezed painfully around his heart. More worrying still was when Keith’s expression seemed to shatter and break at his dismissal, and his face fell like Kolivan had kicked him.  

“But… but I want it.”  Keith dropped his gaze and hugged his arms around his middle, the words coming out soft and confused.  “No one has… no one has touched me without hurting me in so long… I-I don’t think-- not since Ulaz did my helix last month…”

Kolivan stared at him in shock.  The last time anyone had touched him with any sort of kindness was when someone put a needle through his cartilage?  Granted, Ulaz was always very careful, but still… that was alarming. Disturbing. Saddening. It was no wonder the boy was starved for any kind of contact, and was willing to get it the only way he had been taught how.

Keith swiped his fist alongside his eye and Kolivan realized he was crying.  “Please… I want… I-I feel like I’m crawling under my skin, I’m so cold and it  _ aches _ , I just want  _ something _ , please…”  He stepped closer and reached out a hand, trembling and uncertain, as if he didn’t even know what he was looking for, let alone if he was allowed to ask for it.  

Instead of pushing him away, Kolivan gathered him into his arms.  Keith gasped, and Kolivan was fully prepared to release him and step back if he had gone too far, but Keith’s hands came up to grip the back of his shirt like he was drowning and Kolivan was a lifeline.  Perhaps, in a way, he was. Keith melted into him with a quiet sob, and Kolivan wrapped his arms around him like he could protect him from the world.

After a few minutes of quietly holding him and rubbing a hand across his shoulders, Kolivan finally broke the silence.  “How is this, instead?”

“...Yeah.  ‘S good.” Keith’s voice shook and he sighed as he relaxed further.  “God, I’m so stupid.” His voice broke as he breathed the words out.  

Kolivan didn’t know what he meant -- stupid for thinking that was what he needed?  That Kolivan would accept? That having sex was the only way to fill the ache in his heart? -- but it didn’t matter.  “You are not stupid.” He told him, gentle but firm, unyielding.  

“I’m sorry.”  Keith whispered.  

“It’s alright.”  Kolivan said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”  He may have been forced to grow up too fast, and perhaps he was legally an adult, but Keith was still a child in many ways.  He couldn’t be faulted for seeking comfort and affection, even if the methods were misguided. It was the responsibility of the adult in question to let him know other, more appropriate ways.  That was where that bastard had failed him, and gone so terribly, horribly wrong. Kolivan knew it wasn’t Keith’s fault any more than it had been his own all those years ago.

Keith drew in a shaky breath.  “...I don’t know what else to say.”  He admitted quietly.  

Kolivan shook his head.  “You don’t need to say anything.  I understand. And I’ve got you.”

They stood like that for a few minutes longer, with him holding the fragile, broken young man in his arms, until Kolivan felt Keith’s fingers unclench from his shirt just a little bit.  He was no longer crying, but distress still hung over him like a thick, heavy mantel he couldn’t shake off.    

A quiet sound like a growl echoed from between them and Keith flinched, ducking his head in embarrassment.  Kolivan pulled back from the hug and looked down at him, studying his face. “How about something to eat? I have a pizza in the freezer we can heat up.”  Perhaps not the healthiest meal he could provide his guest, but it was quick and easy to make. He didn’t know when Keith had last eaten, after all.  

Keith was quiet for a moment, chewing his lip thoughtfully, then gave a small nod.  

Kolivan smiled reassuringly.  “Give me a few minutes to put it in the oven.  Go ahead and make yourself at home.” He squeezed his shoulder, then left for the kitchen.  

His house was small, but comfortable enough, and it wasn’t as if he needed a lot of space when he lived alone.  The front door opened into the living room, and beyond an open doorway across the living room was the kitchen. He kept two chairs at the table out of principle, although he seldom had guests over (he supposed he worked too much and often found he got his fill of socializing at the shop).  There was a hallway branching off from the living room that led to the bathroom, his own bedroom, and past a short hook in the hallway, a guest room that sat largely unused aside from a bit of storage and whenever Antok drank too much to drive home and ended up staying the night.  

In the kitchen, Kolivan unwrapped the frozen pizza and put it in the oven, setting the timer before he grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and filled them up with water.  He still wasn’t quite satisfied with how much they had convinced Keith to drink back at the studio; he had to be at least a little dehydrated, after running around the city like that, not to mention crying just now.  There was no shame in it, of course, but the last thing Kolivan wanted was for Keith to have to deal with a headache tomorrow, in addition to everything else he would have on his plate.  

Kolivan brought the glasses of water back out to the living room and found Keith had taken a seat on the couch, wedged up next to the arm of the couch and with his knees drawn up to his chest, hugging his legs.  He was staring vacantly at the television despite it being turned off and dark.  

Figuring they might as well pass the time until the pizza cooked, Kolivan passed him one of the glasses before taking a seat at the other end of the couch and picking up the remote control.  “What do you like to watch?” He asked, turning it on. He was only a little embarrassed that the first thing that appeared on the screen was the weather channel.  

Keith shrugged.  “I don’t know. Haven’t really looked in a while.”  He paused. “Not UFC or football.”  

Kolivan nodded in agreement.  He didn’t care for either. But he had to wonder if Keith’s… well, he supposed (hoped) he was now his  _ ex _ , hadn’t permitted him to choose what to watch.  

He flipped through the channels with the volume on low.  “Well, there’s plenty to choose from. Movies, TV shows, dramas, comedies…”  All those seemed a bit noisy, given the still-fragile quietness of the night.  “Hmm. Don’t tell Regris -- he would just call me an old man -- but I have always been partial to documentaries.  They’re quite relaxing, and usually have wonderful musical scores.”  

“Yeah.  That sounds nice.”  Keith said. His voice was soft, and there was something achingly real in it.  Like he was unused to genuine contentment.

Kolivan located a documentary about outer space.  It had started nearly five minutes ago, but would be playing for another hour.  And he remembered Keith mentioning that he liked space. They watched in relative silence for several minutes, the living room quiet aside from the narrator’s soothing British voice speaking over the calming soundtrack.  When the oven let out a beep from the kitchen, Kolivan said he would be right back, and left Keith for a minute to retrieve the food. He contemplated his options for a moment -- he normally wasn’t one to eat in front of the TV, but he thought he could make an exception tonight -- before shrugging and wedging two plates and napkins under his arm while he picked up the entire cutting board holding the pizza and cutter, bringing it all back to the living room to set on the coffee table.  

Keith ate two slices before he seemed to grow hesitant.  Kolivan found it very hard to believe he was actually full.  

“Have as much as you like.”  He said, helping himself to another slice and cutting yet another for the young man beside him.  “Really, it’s not as though I can eat this whole thing myself. Perhaps in my youth, but not with my metabolism like it is now.”  He chuckled quietly.  

Keith, as it turned out,  _ could  _ finish nearly the whole pizza himself.  Or at least two-thirds of it, as Kolivan himself was rather hungry as well given how late it was.  He reflected that he really should have given him something a little more healthy, but it was also nearly three in the morning.  If Keith continued to stay with him, he would have plenty of time to get a good home-cooked meal or several into the boy.

Kolivan cleared away the dishes (okay, he put them in the sink so he could deal with them in the morning) and refilled their glasses of water before taking a seat on the couch.  Keith seemed content with watching the television, no doubt still too jumpy to try and sleep.  

Some time later, Keith shifted in his seat and looked around as if searching for something.  “Bathroom?” He asked.  

Kolivan half-turned and pointed over the back of the couch to the door just out of sight around the corner.  “Just down that hall, first door on the right.” When he was sure Keith had found it, he turned back to the TV and rested his arm flat along the couch-back.  The narrator on the documentary was describing the unknown depth and stunning effects of black holes on the cosmos around them.

A few minutes later, Kolivan heard the click of the bathroom door open, followed by the soft, slow pat of bare feet against the hardwood floor.  He glanced over and found Keith hesitating beside the couch, looking at the spot next to the arm where he had been sitting before. Before Kolivan could ask what was wrong, Keith sat himself down in the center of the couch, just beside Kolivan.  He didn’t move for fear of startling the boy, and wondered why he seemed to suddenly become a bit more fidgety than before. Did he want to go to sleep now?  

As a supernova spun and glittered on the screen in front of them, Keith shifted his legs over to the side of his body.  The movement let him rest a bit more against Kolivan’s side, almost as if he wanted to tuck himself underneath Kolivan’s still-outstretched arm.  Kolivan wondered if he ought to be worried, given Keith’s reckless proposition earlier. But the boy seemed content to just sit beside him, barely touching.  Though, he did wrap his own arms around himself as if he was cold. Kolivan thought back to their scene earlier, when Keith had struggled so much with asking for something as simple as a hug.  

Slowly, Kolivan shifted his arm from the back of the couch to rest around the back of Keith’s shoulders, rubbing his arm reassuringly.  “It’s alright.” He told him quietly.  

Keith gave in and leaned more fully against him, finally relaxing with a shuddery breath that sounded like it had been held inside him for far too long.  Kolivan made no movement other than occasionally brushing his thumb over the boy’s bony shoulder, but it seemed the simple contact with someone he trusted was enough to soothe him.  His eyelids began to droop as the documentary wrapped up, and he had actually dozed off by the time the credits started to roll. Kolivan looked down at him, and was struck by just how  _ young  _ Keith looked in his sleep.  Perhaps even younger than eighteen.  He shifted a bit closer in his sleep, and there was something oddly childlike in the action, even despite the new sense of fragility that seemed to have come from the earlier trauma.  Or, maybe it was because of it.

Kolivan gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze to rouse him, calling his name quietly.  “Keith? Are you ready for me to show you to your room?”  

Keith blinked heavy eyelids open.  Just like that, the tension was back in the line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, anxiety settling in once more as he quickly put a more respectable amount of distance between them.  “...Sorry.” He mumbled, looking embarrassed.    

“It’s alright.”  Kolivan gave his arm one last pat before getting to his feet.  “So long as it’s what you wanted.”  

Keith nodded and looked back at the television.  The screen showed one last image of a spiraling galaxy before abruptly cutting to a red-eyed tree frog climbing up a leaf and an announcement about the next documentary in the line-up.  Kolivan picked up the remote and turned off the television, internally grumbling about how advertisements shouldn’t be that much louder than the program itself.  

On the way down the hall, Kolivan ducked into the bathroom and located a spare, unopened toothbrush.  “Here, get that pizza off your teeth, and I’ll go get your room ready.”  

“Thanks.”  Keith took the narrow plastic box and looked down at it, his brow furrowing in thought.  “Guess I left all my stuff behind when I ran out. My bag, my wallet… Everything except my phone.”  Slipping the phone out of his pocket, he pressed the power button, but the device was well and truly dead by now.  He let his hand fall to his side with a heavy sigh.  

“I’m sure I have I spare charger around here you can borrow tonight.”  Kolivan said. “And we will get your belongings back, rest assured. Perhaps a couple of us can accompany you to the apartment while you collect them, to be sure there isn’t any trouble.”   

Keith nodded.  “Thank you.”  

Kolivan left him to brush his teeth and wash his face in peace while he made his way to the guest room.  He moved a few boxes and things into the closet for now and made sure the bed was presentable, then fetched a spare phone charger out of his room.  He also went into his own closet and grabbed a t-shirt, soft sweatshirt, and a pair of shorts that he knew would be far too big for Keith, but at least they had a drawstring at the waist so he could cinch them tighter.  

He had just plugged in the charger and set the folded clothes on the edge of the bed when the bathroom light clicked off down the hall and Keith appeared in the doorway.  “I brought you some things to wear, if you get tired of the studio merchandise or become too hot or cold at night.” Kolivan gestured to the clothes. “If you get hungry or thirsty, please help yourself to anything in the kitchen.  And if you need anything at all, my room is right down the hall there, don’t hesitate to knock on the door or wake me. Truly, I promise I will not mind in the least.”  

“Thanks.”  Keith glanced at the small clock set on the dresser and rubbed his hand over his face.  “God, it’s like, almost four in the morning. I’m so sorry.”  

“It’s alright, Keith.  Really.” Kolivan said.  “Ah, and don’t worry about work tomorrow -- or today, I suppose.  I would rather you use that time to rest and heal.”  

“I’m sorry.”  Keith grimaced.  “I-- fuck, I can’t stop apologizing.”  

“It’s alright, Keith.  I understand completely.”  Kolivan offered him a small smile.  “Try not to worry about it too much.  We’ll figure everything out in the daylight.  Just get some rest, for now. Goodnight.”

“Yeah.  ‘Night.”  Keith returned his smile, albeit a bit wobbly.  The words sounded unfamiliar on his tongue, and Kolivan wondered how long it had been since someone had told him something as simple as ‘goodnight’.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** not really any, besides allusions to the prior physical/sexual abuse in the context of possibly pressing charges against Sendak (in part 1).

Only a couple of hours after Kolivan had laid down to go to sleep, the sun was already coming up and assaulting his eyes through cracks between the curtains.  As if that wasn’t enough, his phone let out a brief chime that was far too cheery for six in the morning. Kolivan lifted his head with a grunt and blinked the lingering dregs of sleep out of his eyes as he reached for his phone where it sat on the bedside table.  It was a text from Antok.

_ Take the day off.  I’ve got your shift covered, and Ulaz has Keith’s. _

Kolivan tapped out a brief word of thanks that he was pretty sure was misspelled, then switched his phone to silent and collapsed face-first into the pillow once more.  He didn’t even have the energy to be disgruntled that his own employee was rearranging his schedule for him.  

The next time he woke, it was to the faint sound of oil popping in the kitchen and the smell of frying eggs in the air.  Kolivan checked the time on his phone -- half past noon -- and saw that he had another message from Antok. Apparently, he himself had missed half the letters in his semi-conscious state and had replied with “ _ tank _ ”, to which Antok had sent a laughing emoji followed by  _ “u welc”. _

Kolivan scrubbed his hand over his face and rolled out of bed.  After a stop at the bathroom, he made his way to the kitchen and found Keith there.  He was dressed in the same black t-shirt and sweats as the night before (likely because they had been able to grab smalls out of the merch stock, so they fit him considerably better than anything from Kolivan’s closet) and he was also wearing the zip-up sweatshirt Kolivan had given him, the fabric completely swallowing him.  He was tending to a pan of scrambled eggs at the stove, and Kolivan noticed that the dishes he had left in the sink the night before were now washed and sitting in the drying rack.  

“Morning, Keith.”  Kolivan yawned. “My apologies, I should have been up to make breakfast for you.”  

“It’s okay, it’s my way of saying thank you.”  Keith turned off the stove and reached for one of the plates he had washed before.  

“Did you sleep well?”  Kolivan asked, opening up the cutlery drawer to retrieve two forks and set them on the plates Keith was making, then went to start the coffee pot.  

“As well as I could.”  Keith shrugged, then grimaced.  “I feel like I got hit by a semi-truck.”  

“I can drive you to a doctor today, if you wish.”  Kolivan said.  

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”  Keith said lightly. Too lightly.  Kolivan turned to simply look at him, expression flat.  Keith suddenly became very interested in the pan of scrambled eggs.  

“Keith, I don’t provide you with health insurance just for you to ignore your injuries when you are clearly hurt.”  Kolivan told him. “At the very least, you should have someone follow up with your arm, check the burn on your cheek, and frankly, you should see about an x-ray of your ribs, just to be safe.”  

“There’s nothing wrong with my ribs.”  Keith shot back, hackles raised defensively.  

Kolivan turned back to the coffee pot so Keith wouldn’t see him roll his eyes.  “If the bruising wasn’t enough for concern, you ran nearly a mile while wearing your binder, and then proceeded to wear it for hours after that, most likely going well over the eight-hour rule of thumb.  An x-ray would do you good. But, ultimately it is your choice.” He retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and filled them, then handed one to Keith. “If your arm turns green though, I’m taking you to the hospital.”  

Keith huffed and took the proffered cup, sullen.  “It’s not gonna turn green, Ulaz cleaned it just fine…” 

They both sat down at the kitchen table with their breakfast and ate for a few minutes in a comfortable quiet.  

Kolivan set down his fork and took another sip of coffee.  “Are you afraid to see a doctor because you think they will ask questions about how you got the injuries?”

Keith paused.  “Well… yeah. I mean, there’s no way they wouldn’t, with how much there is.”  

And yet he had insisted it ‘ _ wasn’t that bad _ ’.  Kolivan set his mug down with a quiet  _ clack _ against the wooden table.  “You are worried they will try and involve the police?”  

Keith nodded.  

“So you don’t want to press charges against him?”  Kolivan asked, careful to keep his voice even.  

Keith was quiet for a long time, pushing his eggs around on his plate.  “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Do you think I should?”  

“Yes.”  Kolivan’s immediate and frank answer must have surprised Keith, because he looked up.  Kolivan went on. “But I also know that’s a hard decision to make.” He let out a sigh and looked out the window.  “There’s a strange paradox about it. On the one hand, it is tempting to wait and gather your courage to do it -- because it  _ is _ difficult, emotionally.  But legally, it gets harder and harder to compile the evidence and paperwork the longer you wait.  If you take too long to begin the process, you might miss your chance to do anything.” In his case, he had.  There just wasn’t much to be done, so many years after the fact.  

Keith leaned his elbow on the table and pushed his hand through his hair, staring into his coffee like it had the answers he was seeking.  “But I let him do it. All of it. Last night was the first time I even tried to fight back.”  

“What he did to you before you turned eighteen was still a crime, whether you consented or not.”  Kolivan reminded him.

Keith’s shoulders tightened and his eyes fell closed, expression shutting down like blinds being pulled over a window.  “Ulaz told you, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t have to.”  Kolivan said. But now he was going to have to have a very serious discussion with his friend about what he had known and from when.  “I saw the signs myself.”  

Keith dropped his head into his hands, bowed over his unfinished plate of eggs.  “I’m so fucking stupid.” He muttered.  

“You are not.”  Kolivan told him.  “Misinformed, perhaps.  Misguided, probably. But a stupid man would not have survived as long as you did in that situation.”  He reached across the table and tapped the half-eaten plate of eggs. “There is no need to make any decisions or judgement right at this moment.  For now, just focus on breakfast. It is too early for such worries.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”  Keith pointed out.

“Time is a construct of human creation.”  Kolivan shrugged and brought his mug to his lips again.  “You just woke up. Therefore, for you, it is early.”  

“Well put, Socrates.”  Keith snorted as he picked up his fork again.  

“I prefer Plato.”  Kolivan said. “In any case, I came to that conclusion after a few years of running a business that largely operates on a late-night schedule.  Why do you think I keep such dark curtains over the windows of my house’s bedrooms? The sun is the devil’s chariot.”  

At the very least, that made Keith laugh.  Kolivan was glad to see a smile on his face, even as fleeting as it was.  It seemed like it had been far too long since he had seen Keith smile.  

~~~~~~~

In the end, it was relatively easy to retrieve Keith’s thing from the apartment.  Kolivan, Antok, and Ulaz went with him in case of any trouble. The others volunteered as well -- Thace was itching to tear the bastard apart and Regris was fully willing to make good on his long-ago threat to beat up Keith’s boyfriend -- but they did need a couple of people to stay at the shop during business hours.  Keith wondered if they picked who would go with him based on how intimidating they looked (Thace only had to restyle his hair and put on a long-sleeved shirt and slacks to fit in at a PTA meeting, and Regris, while quite inked-up, had the brute strength of a wet noodle. On the other hand, Kolivan and Antok could literally heft a tattoo chair with no problem to mop the floor underneath, and Ulaz probably couldn’t walk nude through a metal detector without setting it off).  

The security detail ended up being unnecessary in the end, as they went by when Sendak was out, but their presence was still welcome as Keith grabbed his things and shoved them into a backpack.  There wasn’t even much to collect; aside from a few sets of clothes, his messenger bag holding his wallet and sketchbook, his mother’s dog-tags on the necklace (he found those in the bathroom trash can, undoubtedly knocked off the counter where he had left them), a handful of toiletries from the bathroom, and his phone charger from beside the bed, he didn’t have any other extraneous belongings.  It had been a very long time since he had been able to own more than he could fit in a backpack.  

He was just glad it didn’t seem like Sendak had taken out his anger on any of his things.  Aside from the necklace in the trash, nothing had been smashed or destroyed. The only sign of a struggle was the dirty frying pan still lying on the kitchen floor where it had fallen after Sendak hit him across the face with it, and the bits of stir-fried vegetables and meat scattered over the linoleum around it.  If not for the plethora of empty beer cans and the full ashtray on the coffee table, Keith would have thought Sendak hadn’t been there at all since their fight -- that maybe he had simply disappeared like a bad dream the moment Keith had finally opened his eyes. He knew better than that, though. The nightmare was still out there, and if he stayed in bed and tried to go back to sleep, it would consume him.  It wasn’t enough to wake up. He had to  _ get _ up.    

Keith shouldered his backpack and messenger bag, followed his friends out into the hall, and put the key in the mail slot after locking the door.  It fell to the floor on the other side with a loud  _ clack  _ that had a strange sense of finality to it.  Keith was still torn on whether he wanted to press charges against Sendak, but he knew he was done with the other man.  There wasn’t anything in the universe that could make him go back to him, after everything he had put Keith through. He didn’t need him.  

But, he still needed a roof over his head, he realized as he rode back to Kolivan’s house with him in his car.  “I can start looking for apartments today.” He said. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”  

“Nonsense.  It is no trouble.”  Kolivan said. “You are welcome to stay as long as you want.  That guest room will remain in my house either way.”  

“I don’t want to impose on you like that.”  Keith said.  

“It is not an imposition.”  Kolivan assured him.  

Keith thought about it.  “I can pay you rent. Or for food.”  

“You don’t need to.  My house is paid off.”  Kolivan told him. “And it is hardly more expensive to buy groceries for two than it is for one.  Makes eating much more enjoyable, too.”  

“I have to do something.”  Keith insisted.  

Kolivan considered it.  “Instead of spending your money on rent or utilities at an apartment elsewhere, why not save up for something  _ you  _ would like?  Something that would benefit you more than mere survival.  Community college, perhaps, or I remember you saying once that you wished you could have top surgery.  Why not work toward that?”  

Keith tapped his finger against the ledge on the inside of the car door as he thought about it.  It was tempting, for sure. But... “That seems… selfish.”  

“Having a goal to work toward that will result in greater happiness and quality of life for yourself at no cost to others is not selfish.”  Kolivan reassured him. “And really, when was the last time you treated yourself to a bit of self-indulgence? I’d say you’ve certainly earned it.”

Keith was quiet for a long while as he turned over the words in his head.  “I want top surgery so bad.” He whispered, as if just speaking the words aloud would let the chance fly away from him.  “I always figured it would just be a dream. Everything has always been stacked against me, for that. Even starting T seemed like a dream a few months ago.”  

“And yet, you have grasped one of those dreams.”  Kolivan reminded him. “Why not reach for the other?”  

Keith swallowed thickly and swiped his palm across his eyes before turning to look out the window.  “...Yeah.” His voice trembled slightly, but Kolivan didn’t miss the small smile he wore. Tears were not always bad, he knew.  Perhaps the prospect of finally getting a shot at something he had wanted for so long had simply brought too much emotion and relief welling to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an announcement, we are rapidly approaching both The Chapter I Have Not Finished Yet and also a seasonal uptick in my IRL workload/commitments, so chapters 13-15 may come a bit more slowly than the once a week posting schedule that I like to keep. Sorry about that, and thank you in advance for your patience (^.^)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I'M SO SORRY, I FUCKED UP.
> 
> I got all mixed up somehow and skipped a chapter while posting. I've realized it the same day, but not before a few people saw the update. This is what happens when you have ADHD and don't write your chapters in the same order that they're supposed to be read.
> 
> Guess you guys get two updates in one day, and I sure hope there's no more mistakes in here. Whoops. (I am definitely living up to my username lmao)
> 
>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** Not really any. Keith tells Regris a bit about the abuse in part 2, but in a vague way that isn’t so much focused on what happened as it is about how he felt, so tiny minor warning there too.

“I want to come back to work.”  

Kolivan looked up from his dinner.  Keith had taken a couple of days off of work -- the first, which Kolivan had also taken off, was spent at the doctor, and the second, he spent resting at Kolivan’s house by himself -- but Kolivan had expected him to take a few more days off, at least.  He had been through a very trying time, and he was injured. The doctor had even recommended he take it easy for a bit.  

“Are you sure?”  Kolivan asked. “It is no trouble for you to take a bit more time off.  You should rest and recover before coming back to work.”

“I’m pretty well-rested now.”  Keith picked at his own dinner.  “I just… I want to move on. I want things to go back to normal.  Or as normal as they can.”  

Kolivan supposed he could understand that.  He nodded. “Alright. You can return to work under one condition.”  He waited until Keith looked up and met his eyes before going on. “If you feel you need a break, for whatever reason -- feeling tired, in pain, a troublesome client is putting you on edge… anything -- I want you to take that break.  And I would like you to ask for help, if you need it. With anything at all. Your health is most important, understand?”  

“Yeah.”  Keith looked down at his plate.  “I promise.”  

“Good.”  Kolivan nodded.  

~~~~~~~

The next morning, Kolivan drove them both to the tattoo parlor.  

Antok looked up from his place at the front desk when they arrived.  “You’re back.” He said to Keith, with just a hint of a question in his voice.  

“Yeah, I’m feeling good enough to work.”  Keith, to his credit, put on a brave smile.  It was marred somewhat by the large bandage taped over his cheek, that the doctor insisted he wear at the tattoo parlor until the wound fully healed.  

Antok didn’t question him, and instead slid off the stool and beckoned him over to the front desk.  “Well, you’ve returned just in time to start the fun task of entering the schedule for the coming year, so I’m afraid you’ll be sitting here most of the day anyway.  I’ve already done most of the first month, so I’ll show you how to do it.”  

Keith didn’t look deterred by the dull activity, as he was glad to have anything to do to keep his mind off of what had happened.  Kolivan was privately relieved that he would have a task that wouldn’t be too strenuous and would keep him at the desk for most of the day; he did worry about Keith straining himself, or his injuries getting infected, even with how securely they were wrapped.  There was a certain amount of risk to working in an environment full of needles, and a compromised immune system (even a minor one) definitely increased that risk. Without even needing to discuss it amongst themselves, the rest of them took over the usual intensive cleaning and sanitizing of equipment, allowing Keith to keep to the less-strenuous but still quite necessary task of entering the yearly schedule at the computer and handling his usual front desk duties.  

Several regulars came in for appointments over the course of the morning, and a handful of walk-ins.  As he worked, Keith felt his mood start to lift for the first time in a few days. It was perhaps strange that  _ work _ , of all things, would put him most at ease.  But this was something he was used to, something stable, that he knew how to navigate.  After the upheaval his life had gone through recently, he was grateful to find some sense of normalcy to anchor him.  It was like he had finally steered his broken-down little ship with its tattered sails away from the crashing waves and winds of the ocean and into the relative safety of a familiar bay.  Sure, he still had to deal with the normal stress of weaving between shoals and coaxing his leaking ship into port, but he knew these waters, so they were much easier to deal with than the vast, uncharted ocean.  Not even having to clean the studio restrooms, waiting for god-knows-how-long on hold with the city health department trying to schedule their next inspection, or trying to parse out what exactly this particularly imaginative walk-in was looking to get -- characters from some 80s mecha anime, in hyper-realism style, but arranged around his arm like hieroglyphics?? -- which were all unenviable tasks, were somehow not as stressful or unappealing as he might have found them just a week prior.  It gave him something to focus on, and for that, he was grateful.

At just a bit after noon, Regris draped himself over the piercing display cabinet with an exaggerated groan.  “I need caffeine…” he whined. As usual, the rest of them paid little mind to him, until he picked himself up and propped his chin in his hand, calling out “I’m doing a coffee run.  Who’s in?”  

The rest of them shouted out their orders, and Regris grumbled good-naturedly as he reached for a stack of post-it notes and a pen off the front desk.  “Alright, alright, apparently everyone. This is more than I can carry by myself.” He looked up at Keith, who was dutifully restacking the aftercare products display after some client had chosen the tub of ointment at the  _ bottom  _ of the pyramid, for some reason that was beyond any of them.  “Keith, you wanna come with me? I’ll buy you a cookie if you help me carry back these orders.”  

Keith looked up, considering it.  He still hadn’t actually told Regris what had happened to him, although he knew the others had briefed him just enough to understand the situation.  He felt like he owed his friend the same information the others had. Plus, it might be nice to walk around a bit and get some fresh air. And he couldn’t say no to a free cookie.

“Sure.”  He glanced at Kolivan, who nodded his approval to let two employees go on a coffee run.  It was a bit of a slow afternoon, so they didn’t need too many hands on deck.  

Keith’s shoulder still felt a little sore, so he left his messenger bag at the shop and just shoved his wallet in his jacket pocket.  The air was a little brisk, but still sunny, and the streets were pretty empty with most people likely inside sleeping and enjoying the last day of their winter break.  They took a detour through the park, as Regris wanted to see if the churro stand was open, but the little booth ended up being shuttered up with a sign saying they would be back January fifth.  

“That’s a bummer.”  Regris hopped up on the narrow wooden posts lining part of the sidewalk, stepping up and down the uneven path with the precision of a gymnast rather than a heavily-pierced, ink-blasted, mid-twenties cat disguised as an adult.  “I was hoping to grab some of those, since I forgot to pack my lunch today.” He hopped across a break in the path and landed on the next post like a graceful snow-leopard whose spots were made of ink. Keith didn’t know how he could balance that well on such small posts.  Honestly, sometimes it was like the guy had a tail or something… 

“Churros, the most nutritional and filling of lunches.”  Keith said dryly.  

Regris hopped down off his perch, and the two continued along a path that would take them to the coffee place near the north end of the park.  Keith shoved his hands in his pockets and watched some kids playing on the jungle gym nearby, enjoying the sunshine for one more day until they had to get back to the grind of school.  The trees in the park were mostly bare in the winter, but scraggly, weathered patches of grass were still hanging on out of sheer spite. They were far enough south that some folks grew up never seeing snow in person, but just a bit too far north for the trees to keep most of their leaves all year round.  Still, it was a nice enough day, Keith thought as they headed up the path that lead over a little, reed-filled irrigation ditch that the park service liked to pass off as a river.  

“Hey, so…” Regris cleared his throat, and Keith felt he knew where this was going.  “The guys kinda gave me the cliff notes on what happened a few days ago. I don’t want to pry or make you talk about stuff you don’t want to, but I just want to know: how are you doing?”  

Keith kicked a pebble along the path and watched it skitter along the concrete before rolling off the edge of the bridge and falling into the murky water with a quiet  _ plop _ .  “Well, I got the shit beaten out of me and I’m basically freeloading off my boss’s spare room, so, you know, spectacular as usual.”  He said flatly.  

Regris stopped walking.  “Keith.”  

The sudden shift in tone to something more serious than Keith had ever heard from his friend made him stop walking as well.  A few feet back, Regris was watching him like one might a car-crash. But not with simple pity, like the crash of a stranger’s car you happened to pass by on the highway.  More like regret, like being forced to witness the demise of a loved one and being powerless to stop it -- sad, and helpless, and mournful.

Keith sighed and took a seat on the low stone wall of the bridge.  “How much did they tell you?”

Regris took a seat beside him, hands in the pockets of his black bomber jacket.  “Pretty much the bare-bones of the situation. Said the guy you’ve been seeing--”

“Sendak.”  Keith had been careful to never mention his name to his coworkers, on the off-chance they knew him.  He never told them much of anything about him. But he didn’t feel he needed to hide it anymore.  

Regris nodded.  “Yeah. Him. They said you guys had a big fight, and he roughed you up pretty bad, and you called Kolivan and he picked you up and brought you back to the shop to patch you up, and you’ve been staying with him since then, maybe for the foreseeable future.  That’s about it.”  

Keith let out a quiet huff -- a ghost of a laugh, devoid of any real humor.  “Pretty bare-bones, yeah.” He propped his foot up against the base of the bridge’s ledge as a breeze rustled the empty branches above them.  “Things were going downhill with us for a long time. Maybe the whole time, even. I just didn’t want to see it. New Year’s Eve was just… an escalation of what was already a pretty bad situation.  Was probably bound to happen at some point, honestly.”  

“How long?”  Regris asked.  “Since before Ink-Con?”  

Keith gave a short, humorless laugh.  “Yeah. Way before.” He noticed, out of the side of his eye, how Regris’s expression cloud over with something like regret.  “Why Ink-Con?” He asked.  

The apprentice let out a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand over his hair, mussing up his loose pompadour and letting a few strands hang over the lizard pattern cut into his high fade.  His boyfriend Vrek did his cuts, Keith knew. Somehow thinking about that just made him remember that while his friend had shared details of his life with Keith, Keith had always been hesitant to return the favor.  Maybe that should have been a sign that he knew, deep down, that what he had with Sendak wasn’t good, if he felt the need to hide it.  

“I kinda got the feeling around then that something might be… off.  Not right.” Regris admitted. “Look, I remember my first tat con. They’re plenty of fun, but it’s like a whole different planet, and sometimes you see some weird and uncomfortable shit.  Plus, you know, long-ass days, everything’s crowded and noisy, and adrenaline can only keep you going for so long before the fun wears off and you crash and contemplate attending the corset-piercing panel just so you can sew your ears shut and get a freaking moment of peace.” 

“Speaking from experience?”  Keith asked, lips quirking up in a flash of a smile.  

“What I did at my first con and how it led to Kolivan enforcing curfew for our room is beside the point.”  Regris picked at his black nail polish suspiciously, and Keith had to laugh at that. It was short, but it felt good to actually laugh in genuine humor, not dry sarcasm.  

Regris bumped his shoulder lightly with his own and went on.  “My point is, I was kind of keeping an eye on you. Not like I thought you couldn’t handle it, just that cons are this weird liminal space and I wanted to make sure my bro was enjoying himself and not getting burnt out.  But you were, like… weirdly chill with it all. It was kind of the happiest I’d seen you in… shit, a long time, maybe ever? And I was trying to figure out  _ why _ , ‘cause like, we’re talking with and tatting up a couple hundred people a day and we’re all crammed in this tiny space and everyone misses their own beds and their partners and stuff.  And then you and I were talking about if our partners would be cool with us doing some platonic spooning, and you said your boyfriend doesn’t care… There was just, I don’t know, just something in your voice, man.  It didn’t feel right.”

Keith looked down at his scuffed-up boots.  He remembered that.

Regris sighed.  “I don’t know, I just got this weird gut feeling that there might be something going on.  But I didn’t want you to think I was invading your privacy, and I didn’t really have anything concrete to back it up.  So I didn’t say anything. And now I’m kicking myself because if I had just  _ asked _ … maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  I’m really sorry, man.”  

“Reg, don’t beat yourself up about it.”  Keith told him. “Honestly, even if you had, I don’t know if I would have said anything.  I wouldn’t even admit it to  _ myself _ until… way too late.  You’ve helped me more than you think, just sticking around and being there for me.”  He hadn’t realized just how true that was -- that the Blades staying by him, resolutely and unflinchingly, when everyone else threw him aside or left him for most of his life,  _ that  _ was what make them feel inexplicably safe.  If the normalcy of doing his job was the coastal bay, the Blades were the lighthouse, the breakwall, the buoys marking the rocks and shoals, the pier, and the steady current guiding his broken boat into shore, even when his sails were too tattered to take in wind on their own.

Keith bumped his shoulder and stood up.  “Come on. The others are probably wondering where their coffee is, and I want that cookie you promised me.”  He smiled.  

Regris chuckled and got to his feet as well.  “Maybe on the way back, we can swing by here again and see if the churro stand opened early?”

“The sign said they’re closed ‘til the fifth, Reg.”

“Can’t a guy hope?”                  

~~~~~~~

Kolivan was plenty aware that in asking Keith to accompany on the coffee run, it was not, as Regris had put it, because the youngest Blade was “the only one of you guys cool enough for me to be seen in public with”, but in actuality it was a chance for Keith to tell Regris what had happened on his own terms.  Regris had been briefed by the others about the gist of the situation, but he wanted to give Keith the opportunity to talk to him himself as he had with them. Knowing this, Kolivan didn’t press them when they came back just a few minutes later than they said they would.  

He did, however, have something to tell him.  Something that he feared would be bad news. “Your phone has been vibrating quite a bit in your bag.”  He said carefully as Keith handed him his coffee order. Every ten minutes or so, Keith’s bag had been letting out a little burst of barely-perceivable humming sounds.  Although Kolivan would never open his bag and look, he had a bad feeling he knew who might be messaging Keith so frequently.  

Keith blinked, then his face clouded over as he too realized who it must be.  He set the cardboard cup-holder on the reception desk and fished his messenger bag out of its place under the desk.  

Kolivan sipped at his coffee, quietly watching Keith out of his periphery.  The boy opened his phone and his lips pinched tight as he scrolled through the litany of messages.  He looked torn. His brow furrowed -- first in thought, then in confusion... Then rage flashed over his features.  Kolivan would give anything to know what the messages said, but he knew it wasn’t his place to pry.  

Keith clutched his phone in his hands and marched over to where Regris was attempting to barter Ulaz’s vanilla mocha for a free piercing.  “Hey, Regris, you’re good with tech stuff, right? How do I block someone from calling or texting me?” His too-casual grin couldn’t quite mask the livid anger burning his eyes.

Regris brightened and all but tossed Ulaz’s drink at him in his haste to help.  Kolivan took another sip of coffee, relieved. Perhaps things really could turn around for the better, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who got in a weird inspiration streak and may have written one, possibly two more chapters that were both not planned in my original idea for this fic and yet also kinda perfectly tie up the ending, despite the fact that I already _had_ an ending? This guy! So the chapter count might go up again. We'll see if it works out. But I also will be traveling over Obon next week so I won't be doing much writing or posting, as a heads-up. Might not be able to post until the week after next. Thank you in advance for your patience!
> 
> (UPDATE) Sorry if you are one of the people who read this update before I realized I skipped a chapter. I don't know where my brain went. Also, there goes the chapter I was thinking about maybe posting over Obon week, soooo... definitely won't be posting anything next week, because I accidentally did it today (and then frantically looked it over for mistakes because I usually give myself more time to beta-read myself AUUUGGHHHH...)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm super sorry that I messed up posting the chapters today, and I dearly hope this one doesn't have mistakes in it because I didn't give myself much time to check it over...) Apologies if you left comments about the contents of this chapter on the previous chapter.
> 
>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** None, aside from discussions of scars in part 2 (that are there due to prior abuse, but the abuse itself is not the focus of the discussion)
> 
> Special thanks to cmbebop on tumblr who suggested a nice little scene (part 1) to fill out the chapter into a decent chapter-length. I hope you don’t mind I changed the people involved a bit -- as much as I love Ulaz, Antok hasn’t had a bonding moment with Keith yet and Ulaz already had a role in this chapter.

The week or so after New Year’s proved to be a rather slow time.  They had a handful of clients scheduled, but less walk-ins than normal.  The weather turned unusually chilly and rained, a rare occurrence that had people hunkered down in their houses where it was warm and dry, not wandering around the streets where they might be suddenly struck with the spur-of-the-moment idea to get a tattoo.  So they had not had much traffic in the shop all morning, other than one scheduled client whom Antok had already finished with. Keith was busying himself by idly stacking, and then restacking, a display of tubs of tattoo ointment near the front desk, trying to decide if they looked better in rows or as a pyramid, when the door let out a jingle as it opened.  

He looked up to greet the person, but it was just Regris.  “You look like death.” He said mildly. The apprentice’s hair was messily pulled back into a bun, save for several clumps that had either fallen out or had been missed entirely.  He was wearing black-framed knock-off Ray Ban sunglasses with purple reflective glass over his eyes despite the cloudy day, and was sipping from a large to-go cup of cheap coffee like it was the elixir of life.  

Regris groaned.  “Keith, my dude, I love you but could you please not shout?”  

“I didn’t.”  Keith snorted.  

“Are you hungover?”  Antok asked flatly.  

“Only a little.”  Regris admitted.  

“Seems like a lot.”    

“Nah, I’m pretty sure most of this is straight-up exhaustion.  Am I getting old? I feel like I’m getting old.” Regris yawned, while Antok (decades older than the young apprentice) gave him a thoroughly unsympathetic look.  Regris took another long sip of his coffee. “Vrek’s birthday was three days ago and we were out late celebrating. Then I worked the third shift. And then yesterday was  _ Ilun’s  _ birthday, so we were out late  _ again _ , and now I’m dead.”  He dropped into a tattoo chair and nursed his coffee.  “How is it that both of my partners are Capricorns with birthdays within a couple days of each other?  And yet neither of them really act like Capricorns?”

Keith shrugged, not knowing much about astrology in general.  Antok -- a man of few words even on a good day -- was silent. He did, however, give Regris a minute or two to mope before reminding him he did need to work for his paycheck, and to go clean the bathrooms since he clearly couldn’t be trusted around needles in his state.  Regris headed off to the back with a sigh, knowing he was right.  

By the time Keith was finished cleaning the equipment and was puttering around the front desk, Regris was slinking back to the front of the shop, stifling a yawn in his hand.  He stowed the cleaning materials and promptly collapsed into an empty tattoo chair, grabbing his sunglasses. “Wake me if anyone walks in, but I doubt they will.” He waved a hand towards the pouring rain outside the window.  

Keith hummed in acknowledgement and pulled out his sketchbook.  Antok was over in the corner reading a book, so it looked like an all-around chill day for them until the one appointment they had booked in the evening.  Keith sketched for a while, doodling aimlessly. When he filled up the page, he flipped to the next and discovered there was only the back cover of the sketchbook.  He had filled up the whole book. Huh. He flicked through the pages idly, but there weren’t any unfinished pieces or large open spaces to fill. The shiny cardboard cover proved a poor material to draw on, so he slid the book back into his bag and flipped his pencil between his fingers as he wondered what else he could do to amuse himself.  

He really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts -- that had already proved to be a bad idea, in the days since the fight with Sendak.  It was why he had come back to work in the first place, because as nice as Kolivan’s house was, it was too empty when he was alone in it and he didn’t like how he couldn’t help but dwell on what had happened.  That was probably how he managed to fill half of a sketchbook in a week, because he couldn’t bear to be alone with his thoughts. Granted, he wasn’t  _ alone  _ here -- Antok was in the corner, and Regris was… technically here -- but neither of them were particularly conversable at the moment.  Keith felt like his skin was itchy and his hands were practically twitching; he needed  _ something  _ to do, to keep his thoughts at bay.  

At a loss, he grabbed a pen out of the jar on the reception desk and started doodling on his left hand and arm.  When he ran out of ideas, he let his gaze dart between his arm and any flash designs that happened to be nearby, practicing his free-hand drawing from reference.  He ended up with a strange forest of evergreens, palms, and flowers around his forearm, some mandalas sprinkled through the forest’s “sky” like abstract moons, and a random shark swimming along the back of his hand.  Most were black, but he had found a handful of colored pens in the desk drawer and added some splashes of color here and there. Not half bad, if he was being honest. And it would wash off, so he wasn’t worried about it.  

Once he filled up his left arm, he tried his hand at the right, but his left hand lacked the dexterity of his dominant hand and he didn’t want to get too close to his injuries, so he gave up.  He flipped the pen between his fingers, looking around the shop. He wondered if they had any extra sketchbooks lying around. There was also a stack of post-it notes, but recently Kolivan had to instigate a policy of “ _ post-it notes are for phone calls and information, not doodling _ ” after they went through far too many stacks one month (they were all to blame, frankly.  Hazard of being an artist)  

Keith’s gaze settled on Regris, still stretched out on the tattoo chair and completely zonked out.  He hadn’t moved in at least an hour. And he had an awful lot of skin on display… 

With a mischievous grin, Keith gathered up his pens and headed across the floor.  Antok looked up briefly when he approached, lifting an eyebrow in question. Keith tapped a finger to his lips as he sat down on the stool beside the tattoo chair and quietly laid his markers on the small table where the pots of ink and tools were supposed to go.  Antok said nothing and turned back to his book, but there was a subtle twitch of his lips that betrayed a smile.  

Regris must have been really exhausted -- he was completely out cold.  Keith started out on his arms and the part of his legs that was visible below his shorts, making every movement careful and not daring to touch him with his hands directly, but it seemed not even the brush of felt-tipped ink over his skin could wake him.  Keith eventually started to carefully, gently rotate his limbs to get more access to skin, and still he didn’t wake. Regris had a lot of his own (permanent) ink, so there wasn’t even much open skin to draw on, but Keith expanded the designs of a couple existing tattoos, filled in some blackwork with the colored pens, and peppered in his own designs wherever he could.  Some of them were pretty decent, and others were downright silly (the moustache on the inside of his index finger, and the stylized script of “ _ I steal lunches from the communal fridge _ ” woven alongside his sleeve were probably the dumbest, but were also the ones Keith had to work hardest on not laughing while he did them)

At some point, while Keith was writing “ _ PUNK LYFE _ ” across the sleeping apprentice’s knuckles, Antok got up and left the room.  Keith barely noticed, until the senior tattoo artist came back and wordlessly held out a bottle of hairspray.  

Keith looked at it, then up at Antok.  “What’s that for?” He whispered.  

“Makes marker last up to a month.”  Antok replied.  

A grin spread over Keith’s lips and he took the proffered bottle.  Even Antok was smiling to himself as he returned to his book, and he kept glancing over to check out Keith’s work.  

Keith didn’t want to be  _ too  _ mean (and more importantly, didn’t want to do too much and wake Regris), so he only selected his favorite pieces to spray and seal.  He was afraid the sound and the chill of the aerosol would wake his victim, but he managed to get a handful of pieces sprayed on his legs and arms before Regris finally came to with a groan.  

“Whus goin’ on…?”  Regris looked down his prone body, where Keith was frozen over his stomach with a marker in one hand and the hem of his shirt in the other.  “What the…?” Regris propped up his sunglasses on his head and his eyes locked on the alligator playing an electric guitar that Keith had just done on his stomach. 

Regris let his head fall back onto the cushioned headrest with a groan, rubbing his hand over his face.  “Yeah, I guess I deserve that for falling asleep. ‘S long as it’s just marker, so it’s not permanent.”  

“Well,” Keith glanced at Antok.  The two of them shared a grin. “More like ‘semi-permanent’.”  

“The hell does that mean?  It’s either permanent or it’s not, and marker is--” Regris looked down again and noticed the bottle of hairspray Keith was holding up with a playful little wiggle.  His eyes widened and he quickly sat up, truly taking in the extent of Keith’s handiwork for the first time. “Jeezus, Keith, you really… oh my god. Holy shit, how long was I out for?”  Regris asked, turning his arms and looking down at his legs.

“Few hours.”  Keith said. “I got bored.”  

“I can tell!”  Regris laughed.  Keith had been worried he would be mad, but he seemed overjoyed with his new ‘ink’.  He burst out laughing every time he discovered a new addition to his skin. “Dude, these are sweet.  Now I can’t tell if I like my dragon better as blackwork or color -- that’s pretty rad.” He turned his arm over and noticed the lettering.  “Nice script work, that shit’s tricky. But I do not steal lunches. Only  _ parts _ of people’s lunches.”  

“You ate my avocado BLT last week.”  Antok pointed out from his chair as he turned another page in his book.  

“Your fault for leaving anything avocado unattended.  I’m a millennial.” Regris stuck his forked tongue out.  He lifted the edge of his shirt and chuckled at the smiley face around his belly button, then pointed at the guitar-playing alligator off to the right of his stomach.  “I like this one. Like, a lot. I might get it for real. Can I keep it?”  

Keith grinned and sealed the alligator with a few shots of hairspray.

They passed the rest of the afternoon drawing on each other, and even coerced Antok into letting them give him a few more additions too (though he confiscated the hairspray).  The rain outside eventually stopped, a couple of clients wandered in, and business picked up a bit in the evening. Keith was clearing away the markers and Regris and Antok were sitting down with a client when Keith realized it had been hours since Sendak had even entered his head.  The sense of victory he felt was tainted slightly at the thought of Sendak, but when Keith looked down at his bandage-covered ruined tattoo on his right forearm, his eyes were instead drawn to a sketch of constellations that Regris had arranged into a heart on the inside of his wrist with a silver gel pen he had fished out of his bag.  He smiled fondly and turned away to answer the phone that began to ring, successfully putting his ex-boyfriend out of his mind again.    

~~~~~~~

As the month progressed, Keith’s wounds began to heal.  The physical injuries were most obvious, and healed the quickest; after just a couple of weeks, the doctor determined that the burn on his cheek was healed enough to no longer need to be covered with a bandage, but Keith would likely always carry that mark on his cheek.  Another week later, the bandages on his arm were allowed to come off as well. The bruises faded, as did the bags under his eyes. He was beginning to look healthier now that he was getting more sleep, better food, and less stress in his home life. He smiled more often, though they were usually small and fleeting.  He was still unusually quiet, and would jump at loud, sudden noises. His skin may have healed, but it would still be a long while before he was comfortable in it again.  

“Ulaz?”  Keith asked one day when the shop was mostly empty.  His voice was still quiet and hesitant, as if he was still afraid one wrong move would send violence his way again.  Ulaz knew it wasn’t fear toward them that made him quiet, but it was simply the situation he had been thrust into.  

“Yes, Keith?”  He set down his sketchbook and turned to give him his full attention.  

Keith looked down and away, fidgeting a little before he found the words he wanted to say.  “Can you… fix my tattoo? Like you do the clients with scars?” He held out his arm to show him.  The doctor had finally allowed him to stop covering it with a bandage, but the new scar was still pink and raw.  

“I will.”  Ulaz said carefully.  “But you must give your skin time to fully heal.  Rest assured, I will set aside some time for you. But you must wait a few more months.”

Keith’s shoulders drooped and he deflated.  Ulaz didn’t blame him for wanting to be rid of a mark that, for now, was only a reminder of the violence he had endured.  He hadn’t had time yet to discover how much stronger it had made him, and Ulaz knew rushing him wouldn’t help him see that any faster.  It had to be realized on his own.  

But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help a little, Ulaz thought as he tugged his sketchbook closer.  “But you know, we can begin planning the design anytime. You may go through several designs before you find one you are happy with, so there is no harm in getting an early start.”  He said, flipping to a new, blank page and picking up his pencil. “So, do you have any ideas?”

Keith had brightened at the prospect of beginning the design, but his smile slipped again at the question.  “Not really. I can’t think of anything. You’re always so good at figuring that stuff out; I’ve seen you do it with clients.”  

“Most of the ideas I come up with are only born after I talk with the person in question.  This is perhaps even more personal than a simple tattoo, given the nature of scar cover-ups.”  He took out his phone and gestured for Keith to hold out his arm, then snapped a photo. “Here.  What do you see?” He spun the phone around to show Keith.  

Keith blinked.  “My arm? I know what my arm looks like.”  

“You know what it looks like from  _ your  _ perspective.”  Ulaz reminded him.  “Every person only ever sees a reflection of their canvas, the view reversed in a mirror or upside-down from how the rest of the world sees it.  You’ve worked here long enough to know that. Sometimes looking at something from another perspective allows you to see it differently.” He zoomed in a little on the image, allowing the mangled tattoo and jagged pink scar to take up most of the screen.  “Now, what do you see?”  

Keith’s brows pulled together thoughtfully as he looked down at the photograph, resting his chin in his hand with his elbow propped on the table.  “I see a scar.” He said finally. “And a wrecked tattoo.”  

“Look beyond physical.”  Ulaz told him. “Look for shapes, lines, emotion… what design do you think is hidden in this canvas?”

Keith was quiet as he considered it.  Ulaz didn’t rush him. Keith’s expression softened and grew somber.  “Cracks.” He said. “It’s like there’s a crack through the picture. Like the knife is really broken.”  

This, too, was another reason Ulaz preferred to wait some time before tattooing over scars.  For many people, it took a long time to come to terms with whatever had happened and see it in anything other than a negative light.  Cover-ups were one thing, but covering up something with a design that was steeped in a slightly different form of negativity would do them little good, in the long run.  The best designs were ones that would inspire growth and pride when they looked at it, not bring those bad memories back up to the surface. 

“Knives can be reforged.”  He reminded him patiently.  

“Can this one?”  Keith asked, pointing at the spot on the photo where the scar ran through the blade tattooed on his skin.  “If you tattoo over it, will it look like it did before?”  

Ulaz gestured for his arm and when Keith offered it, he held it and examined that part of the scar with a practiced eye.  The skin had repaired itself just the tiniest bit crooked, not to mention the raised bit would always be a different texture.  The open spaces and relatively-flat colors of the blade wouldn’t hide the scar the way Keith wanted.  

“Perhaps not quite the same as before.”  Ulaz said slowly. “However, if there was something with a fair amount of detail wrapped around the knife -- such as a vine or a branch or a feather -- it would mask it like you want.”  He pointed as he spoke, finger just barely above Keith’s skin. “Can you see anything wrapping around the blade?”  

“Maybe a vine.”  Keith nodded after a moment’s thought.

“What is on the vine?”  Ulaz pressed.  

“Thorns.”  Keith said.  He paused, considering it, then continued.  “Maybe… a couple of flowers. Small ones. If that’s okay.” 

“It is your tattoo.”  Ulaz reminded him. “Does the vine simply cross over the knife here, at this point?  Or does it wrap around it?”

“Around.”  Keith said.  “Maybe… maybe no thorns.  Or, a few? I don’t know.”  

“You have plenty of time to adjust the design.”  Ulaz said. He would draw up a couple of sketches based on their conversation, so Keith could see which he liked better.  It was perhaps a bit more effort than he would normally put in for a client, but Keith was a special case -- Ulaz couldn’t help but think of him as something between a friend and family.  

“How about here, and here?”  Ulaz pointed to the parts of the scar that cut over his blank skin to either side of the tattoo -- above and to the right, and below and to the left.  “Should the vines continue outward? Or do you see something else there?”

Keith tilted his head as he considered it.  “I want… the vines to just wrap around the knife.  Like they’re holding it. Outside…” he glanced between his arm and the photograph showing it right-side-up.  He sighed. “I don’t know. It still just looks like cracks.” He looked despondent.  

“Does that upset you?”  Ulaz asked carefully.  

“Kind of?  I just feel like I’m failing at what you told me to do, because that’s all I can see in it.”  Keith admitted.

“You haven’t failed anything, Keith.”  Ulaz squeezed his hand to reassure him.  “And remember, you still have time; we can completely change the design in the coming months while we wait for your arm to heal.  That’s perfectly alright, and it happens for many clients.” He paused to study the boy in front of him. Keith didn’t seem like he wanted to stop talking about it, as some of Ulaz’s clients had done.  He just seemed a little uncertain about where to go from here.  

Ulaz tried again.  “Back to these cracks, for now.  A crack is a break in the surface of something.  What do you see underneath?”  

Keith thought about it.  “Blood? Bone?” He looked up and saw Ulaz casting a withering look at him.  “What? That’s what’s under skin.”  

“This isn’t just skin, it is a canvas.   _ Your  _ canvas.”  Ulaz tapped his arm.  “You can paint anything you want on your canvas.  When you look at your canvas, you said you see cracks.  But cracks in a surface go hand-in-hand with there being something underneath, something that finally gets a chance to be seen.  What do those cracks reveal underneath the design?”  

Keith frowned as he thought about it, and Ulaz could tell he was over-thinking it.  He could almost see the gears turning in his head, conjuring up ideas and tossing them away one after the other.  He had that same pinched look of concentration he got when someone walked in unscheduled without an artist request and only some outlandish idea, and Keith was tasked with breaking down the idea into an actual tattoo in order to pair them with the best artist for the job.

“Don’t think about it as a tattoo artist.  Leave that to me.” Ulaz told him. “Don’t think about what is possible.  What do you  _ want _ ?  I will  _ make  _ it possible.”  

Keith’s lips twitched up in a flash of something like amusement, no doubt in response to Ulaz’s obvious confidence (he had been tattooing for decades; he had the right to be confident in his own abilities).  

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Keith spoke up again, the words quiet.  “Light.” He said finally. “Maybe not like, glowing, but… like there is light underneath, and it spills out of the cracks.”  He let out a weighty sigh. “Can’t really do that with ink, though.”  

“Do not be so quick to discount my abilities.”  Ulaz pinched his hand lightly, then rubbed a thumb over that spot to soothe it as Keith chuckled.  Ulaz’s faux-stern expression smoothed into a smile. “I think light would look splendid in this design.  Why don’t I sketch up some possibilities and we’ll talk later?”  

“Alright.”  Keith returned his smile, and it was a little less sad than Ulaz had seen from him as of late.  “Thanks, Ulaz.”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry about the wacky posting mix-up... my bad! 😬


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which various people have various misunderstandings, Keith tries something new, and no chapter-specific content warnings are necessary.

Keith frowned and pushed a lock of his hair out of his face as he cleaned the glass display case in the shop.  He should probably think about getting a haircut. It had been about four years since he played the  _ ‘bubblegum stuck in his hair’ _ card to get his hair chopped short when a certain foster family wouldn’t take his desire to transition seriously.  He had managed to get the most androgynous pixie cut he could with his foster mother glaring at him from the salon waiting room, and it hadn’t looked half bad.  But regular haircuts weren’t seen as a priority among several of his many foster families, and over the years it had grown out to nearly the same length that had driven him to chop it off in the first place.  He liked having his bangs to hide behind, but these were too long to be called bangs at this point -- they could just as easily be pulled back into his ponytail with the rest of his hair. Not to mention, between the length and the natural flip to his hair, his ponytail’s look had gone from “cool, adventure-seeking pirate” to “oddly sullen cheerleader”.  He wanted to get his bangs back and trim it just a bit shorter, or maybe try a long undercut just for a change of pace.

“Come on, babe, you know I love you... Don’t make me do this.”  Regris’s whispered plea pulled him out of his thoughts. The apprentice was at the reception desk, and there was a man with black and purple-streaked hair standing in front of the desk with his arms crossed over his chest -- Vrek, Regris’s boyfriend, he had introduced himself as when he came in a while ago.  Regris looked upset about whatever they were talking about.  

“Come on,  _ babe _ .”  Vrek shot back in an undertone.  “Look, I know it’s  _ ‘against your personal beliefs’ _ or whatever, but it’s what I want.  And if you won’t do it, I’ll just go to someone else.  You know we’re not exclusive that way.”  

Keith straightened up, his frown deepening.  He didn’t like the sound of this conversation.  He knew Regris was polyamorous, but they didn’t have an ‘open relationship’ -- it was just the three of them, and they were quite happy that way, from the way Regris talked.  He was so obviously devoted to his two partners and would never cheat on them or pressure them to move their relationship in a direction the others didn’t want. If his boyfriend wasn’t affording him the same respect, that was bad news.  

Keith left his cleaning supplies on top of the glass cabinet and crossed the floor to the front desk, folding his arms over his chest and trying to look more intimidating.  “Hey. Is there a problem here?” He asked both of them, but looked specifically at Regris for any small sign that he might need help. He knew first-hand how someone might not feel able to speak up around an abusive partner.  

Instead, both men just looked at each other and him in confusion.  “Huh? No, we’re fine, dude.” Vrek tilted his head as he regarded him curiously, as if he were looking at a kitten with its fur puffed up and trying to figure out what had set the little creature off.

“Really.”  Keith tipped his chin down and glared at him.  “‘Cause it sounded like you were pressuring Regris in your guys' relationship.”  

The other two stared at him for a beat of silence, then Regris burst out laughing and Vrek’s mouth dropped open in shock.  

“No, no, Keith, oh my god, I promise we’re cool like that.”  Regris told him quickly.  

“I meant we don’t have an exclusive  _ artist  _ relationship.”  Vrek rubbed his hands over his face.  “As in, I  _ usually  _ come to him for tats and piercings, but I have gone to other places on occasion, like before he was allowed to work on people.  Just like he  _ usually _ , but not always, comes to me for haircuts.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”  Regris backed him up.  “In a romantic sense? We’re exclusive to each other and Ilun.  No worries, everything is fine on that front.”  

Keith instantly felt bad about assuming the worst, especially when he had never met Vrek before today.  His shoulders deflated, mortification weighing on him heavily and burning his ears. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”  Regris waved his apology off.  “I get why you might think that.”  

“What we  _ were  _ talking about,” Vrek explained.  “Is that I want a watercolor tattoo --  _ yes _ , I  _ know  _ they fade easily -- and Reg here is being a dramatic baby about it.”  

“I’m  _ trying  _ to save you a couple hundred dollars in future touch-ups.”  Regris pouted. “And I don’t want to be the guy who gives you a tattoo that might look shitty twenty or thirty years down the road.  I don’t want my name attached to anything that isn’t gonna hold up over time.”  

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve given me other tattoos that will age perfectly fine.”  Vrek said. “You don’t think I listen to you rant about it at home? I know the risks, and I still want it.  It's a neat aesthetic, dude, and the only people who hate on them are you tattoo artists.”  

Regris threw up his hands with a groan.  “Fine. Your funeral, man. But if it looks like shit when you’re sixty, you’re not allowed to tell anyone who did it, even if we break up.”  He slapped a waiver on the desk and all but tossed a pen at his boyfriend.  

“It’ll look fine.  I think a sixty year-old with a rainbow watercolor skull on his arm is gonna turn heads either way.”  Vrek deadpanned as he filled out the forms.  

“You’re gonna end up with eye and nose sockets surrounded by smudges on your wrinkly old-man skin.”  

“Not if you do your job right.”  

“I  _ will _ , but without a black outline, this shit’s gonna break up and dissolve over time!”  Regris bristled. “It’s  _ chemistry _ , not a question of my  _ ability _ !”

“Then do the sockets in colored ink too.  That’d look neat, actually.” Vrek said thoughtfully.  

“That  _ does not. solve. the problem! _ ” Regris hissed.  

“I mean, it kinda would; at least it would all fade somewhat evenly.” 

“ _ Tattoos are not supposed to fade! _ ”   

Keith left them to bicker over it like a very alternative old couple, just relieved that their relationship wasn’t in trouble.  By the time he finished cleaning and was taking up desk duty again, Vrek had filled out his paperwork and Regris was setting up his workstation with about a dozen pots of ink and several different needle attachments, grumbling to himself about “trendy fuckin’ Pinterest tattoos that don’t hold up over time...”

Keith located Vrek’s file and added his completed paperwork to the stack inside.  He must have quite a bit hidden under his clothes, because Keith couldn’t see anything on him other than the edge of a tribal half-sleeve peeking out from under his rolled-up shirtsleeve.  But Vrek had a fairly mainstream job as a hairdresser, so it was likely he strategically hid his ink for work. “You know, Ulaz doesn’t whine as much about watercolor tats, if you’d rather work with him.”  Keith told him.

“I know.”  Vrek leaned against the desk and watched his boyfriend across the room.  “I like Reg’s work, and I want him to do it. Anyway, I know him -- he’s just playing it up now, but he’ll settle down and focus his dumb little heart out when he gets to work.”  He said, his tone betraying his affection for the other man. His eyes slid over towards Keith again, assessing him. “So are you the Keith he talks about?”  

Keith stiffened slightly, just a little bit guarded.  “What has he said?” He didn’t like people talking about him behind his back, even if he trusted them.  How much of Keith’s private life had his friend divulged to his partners?  

Vrek seemed to understand, though.  He waved him off, as if to let him know it was nothing to worry about.  “Just, like, funny stories from work and stuff, nothing bad. So-and-so had this weird client, so-and-so did a coffee run and saw such-and-such weird thing coming back… that kinda thing.  He talks about all the guys here, but I’ve met them before. Were you  _ ‘the newbie whose soul physically left his body when he found out people tattoo their asses’ _ ?”  

Keith blinked, having forgotten about that particular incident, then groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “...Yes.” He muttered. “For the record, I can deal with that stuff with a straight face, now.”    

Vrek laughed, but it didn’t sound unkind.  “Better than I’d be able to, then. People are wild.”  

“Vrek, get your stupid Monet-wannabe ass over here!”  Regris called.

“Monet did oil paintings, not watercolors.”  Vrek informed him patiently, strolling over.  

“Your stupid hipster ass, then!”

Keith rolled his eyes and placed the file back on the alphabetized shelf behind the front desk.  He doodled in his new sketchbook a bit, standing by in case the phone rang, then got bored and wandered over to check out Regris’s work.  Admittedly, Keith also liked the aesthetic of watercolor tattoos, even though he knew that they were difficult, time-consuming, and tended to age poorly even when done by a skillful hand, simply because of their structure.  But he couldn’t deny that they  _ were  _ quite pretty. 

Just as Vrek had predicted, Regris was quiet and fully absorbed in his work, switching out inks and needles with well-practiced precision to keep up with the difficult design.  To the untrained eye, it  _ looked  _ like a simple design -- a skull in a thin black outline (which must have been their compromise), with splashes of rainbow color around and across it, as though a paintbrush had been flicked over the image -- but just fading the colors into each other in a smooth and natural-looking way took a lot of work and a careful, detail-oriented eye.  

Regris turned away to change inks yet again, and Keith’s gaze fell to the elaborate cyber-punk, circuitry-like pattern buzzed into his undercut, below where his hair was tied up in a tiny bun at the back of his head to keep it out of his face while he worked.  The pattern of the undercut changed pretty regularly -- almost as often as Regris got his hair cut -- and every time, Regris was quick to point out that his boyfriend had done it for him, even if they all knew it was more than likely Vrek who had done it.

“Hey, Vrek,” Keith said suddenly.  “By the way, I really like your work.  On Regris’s head.” He clarified.  

“Thanks, dude.”  Vrek smiled. “Reg lets me have fun and try out new stuff on him.”

“If it sucks, I can just shave it off.”  Regris quipped.

“Yet you never have.”  Vrek teased.  

Regris switched off the machine and sat up to give him a flat look, clearly unamused.  Words seemed to pass unspoken between them.  

“The bowl cut one doesn’t count.”  Vrek rolled his eyes. “You should have known better than to ask me on April first.”  

“I’d pay to see that.”  Keith grinned.

“I have photos.”  Vrek said, reaching for his pocket.  

“You keep your damn arm on the table.”  Regris made a show of pinning down his limb as he got back to work.  Apparently, if there was anything that could make Regris eager to work on a watercolor tat, it was the threat of photos of him with a bowl cut.  

Keith shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “I’ve actually been meaning to get a haircut for a while. Is it okay to ask for the name of your workplace, so I can see about getting an appointment?”

“I could tell you that…” Vrek said slowly, choosing his words carefully in a way that made it pretty clear he wouldn’t.  Keith’s heart sank. “...But to be honest, I prefer to do friends and fam at home.”  

Keith blinked, taken aback.  “We’re friends?” They had only met that day, and Keith had started off that interaction with an accusation of implied infidelity.

“You’re friends with Reg.  That counts because I make the rules.”  Vrek told him “Look, the salon I work at takes a pretty big chunk off any money I make as a space rental charge, and I’m just a bit salty about that.  Some days they even make more money off of me than I do. That’s why when I do anyone who isn’t strictly a client, I like to do it at home or at least their place, so I can keep one hundred percent of whatever they give me.  Even if I cut them a pretty good discount, I still make more than what I would at the salon. Provided, of course, they keep it on the DL and don’t tell my greedy boss.”

“I keep telling you to find a different salon…” Regris muttered as he switched inks yet again.

“Hard to find a place that puts up with my ‘alternative look and work’, and I refuse to sink to the level of doing endless soccer-mom bobs at just any salon.”  Vrek said. He turned back to Keith just as Thace happened to be walking by with his eyes glued to his phone. “So yeah, kid, I’ll do you, but I want it done at my place and not some joint that’s gonna rob me like a pimp.”

Thace froze as he was passing by them, looking up and narrowing his eyes suspiciously.  “...Excuse me?”

“Haircut.”  Keith said quickly.  “He meant he’ll do my haircut.”  

“Yeah, dude, you really could have worded that better.”  Regris told his boyfriend.

Vrek flashed Thace a cheeky grin and lifted the arm that wasn’t being tattooed to wave his fingers in greeting -- two rings glittering on his left ring finger, matching the two Keith had noticed Regris always wearing on a chain necklace around his neck.  “Sup, Thace? Hey, how did that ‘crazy hair day’ look go over at your kid’s school?”  

“Lovely.  His teacher called me in a panic wondering if the color was permanent and if the mohawk was an indication I was encouraging his belief in the occult.”  Thace snorted.  

“Um… sorry?”  Vrek winced.

“Don’t be.  Someone needed to drag that woman into this century.”  Thace rolled his eyes and wandered off.

Ulaz looked up.  “Since when are mohawks a sign of the occult?”  He asked, genuinely confused.

“I believe that part was due to me allowing him to read some popular book series about a teen wizard.”  Thace mused, then nudged his friend teasingly. “But she probably saw someone like you walking down the street looking like you do, and got scared.”   

Ulaz blinked.  “Do I look frightening?”  He paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should smile more?”  He pulled his lips back, revealing the sharply-filed canines he had done in his youth when he was young and rebellious (more so than now).  They all knew Ulaz would never hurt a fly, but objectively, the smile did not exactly help his case.   

~~~~~~~

After chatting a bit more about schedules, they fixed a day when Regris could give Keith a lift to his place after work.  And Keith knew that Regris rode a motorcycle to work, but he was still rather surprised to be presented with a metallic purple helmet with a blue lightning bolt sticker wrapped around the middle.  

“It’s Ilun’s.”  Regris explained.  “I gave her a lift to work this morning, so it’s what I have on me.  Unless you want mine, and I can wear hers.”  

“No, it’s fine.”  Keith turned it over and examined what looked like a bumper sticker on the back -- a cartoon mushroom cloud with the words ‘ _ da bomb _ ’ across it.  He wasn’t really picky, as long as it would fit.  “Won’t you need to pick her up from work, though?”  He doubted that three people could fit on the back of Regris’s bike.  

“Nah, she’s going out for dinner with a friend after their shift and getting a ride back after they’re finished.”  Regris swung his leg over his bike and waited until Keith got settled behind him, then started the engine.

It was only a short ride back to Regris’s place, as he lived fairly nearby.  As Regris led him up the stairs and apologized for any mess (“we’re all, like, mid-twenties, so you know, we’re kinda just pretending to be real adults…”), Keith realized that this was the first time he had been to a friend’s place in… a very long time.  Perhaps since before his dad died. Getting shuffled from foster house to foster house hadn’t given him a lot of time to stay in one place and make friends, and he hadn’t dared to stay out much when he was living with Sendak.  

“--and here we are, Casa Vregrisun.”  Regris unlocked the door to apartment 626 with a flourish.  

“Casa Vregrisun?”  Keith arched an eyebrow.  He might have dropped out of high school, but he had lived in California long enough to recognize that wasn’t Spanish.  

“It’s our names together.”  Regris said. “Since we can’t get married.  Man, can you imagine a triple-hyphenated last name?  Paperwork would take  _ forever  _ to fill out.”  He kicked his combat boots off and left them in the haphazard pile of boots, sneakers, and flip-flops just inside the doorway.  “Hey babe! I brought your newest victim!” He called out, shooting a wink at Keith, who just snorted and rolled his eyes.  

“Sweet, give me a sec to finish dinner.”  Vrek called back from around the corner.  

“Did you make me some?”  Regris asked. Keith trailed after him as he followed him to the kitchen.  

“You have hands, you can assemble your own taco.”  Vrek scooped some cheese up and sprinkled it into a toasted shell filled with meat, beans, and lettuce, and handed it to Regris on a plate.  

“You say that, but you just handed me one.”  

“That’s for  _ Keith. _ ”  Vrek told him.  He leaned over and pressed a peck to his cheek.  “ _ That’s _ for you.”  

“That’s nice, but I want a taco too.”  Regris snorted and passed Keith the taco.  

“Ungrateful.  Here.” Vrek handed him another.  

“Thank you, babe.”  Regris took it from him with a return peck on his cheek.  “Make yourself at home, Keith. What do you want to drink?  Water, soda, I think we have some orange juice still…”

“Water is fine.  Thanks.” Keith took a seat at the kitchen island, looking around the apartment curiously.  There were a fair number of posters on the walls for movies and bands, some of which he recognized, along with several framed photos of the three of them.  The television in the corner had a few gaming consoles and controllers surrounding it, and the window along the wall was covered with a tie-dye moon mandala throw-blanket instead of curtains.  The apartment wasn’t the fanciest (there was a large crack running up the length of one wall that had been surreptitiously mostly-covered with a poster), but it looked comfortable and lived-in.  He could see three bedrooms leading off from the open living room-slash-kitchen, but only one seemed to have a bed it in it (a very large bed, that was unmade and took up the majority of the small room).  The other two looked to be filled with gym equipment and a makeshift art studio, the latter of which also had a futon-couch shoved in the corner. Keith remembered Regris saying that they had pitched themselves as ‘three normal single roommates’ while apartment-hunting, after being turned down by a potential landlord who called them ‘a polygamous cult’ (among other hurtful things) and refused to rent to them.  But it seemed the place they had settled on didn’t mind too much, if they didn’t feel the need to keep up the appearance that the other two rooms were bedrooms.  

After they had eaten dinner and cleaned up the dishes, Vrek set up a kitchen chair in the middle of the living room and directed Keith to sit down.  Keith found it exceptionally strange for someone to touch his hair so freely -- brushing it out, feeling the texture and seeing how it laid naturally, ruffling it around as he spritzed it with water… -- but it didn’t feel necessarily bad.  Just… different. It wasn’t romantic like Sendak’s had started, or harsh and constricting like they had turned into. It wasn’t even soft and caring like when Kolivan had patted his hair or teasing like when one of the Blades ruffled his hair as a joke.  Vrek’s fingers were practiced and perfunctory, combing through just enough to gather a lock to snip and then ruffling them around to make sure things were even. Still, the simple action made Keith realize it had been a long time since anyone had run their fingers through his hair, or even touched him at all.  Perhaps not since that hug his first night at Kolivan’s, and that had been nearly a month ago. He hadn’t gotten any new tattoos or piercings in the past month, so his skin-to-skin (or even skin-to-gloved-skin) contact had been close to negligible, if any. It was… a bit of a strange thought, he realized. It was also strange to think it had already been nearly a month since he left Sendak and started his life over.  In some ways, it felt like it had been ages ago, but in others, it felt like no time had passed at all.      

The high whirr of the clippers pulled him out of his thoughts.  It sounded almost like a tattoo machine, but there was no pain when he felt the guard-covered blades at the back of his head.  Keith was a little nervous as he felt clumps of hair fall down his back to land at Vrek’s feet; he had never shaved any part of his head, but he was also eager to finally try it.  The front was now trimmed up, but still long enough that he would have his bangs back when Vrek freed them from the clips. 

“Reg, did you take my size two?”  Vrek picked through the clipper attachments, looking for a certain one.  

“Yeah, I touched up my sideburns when they started getting long.”  Regris said, not looking up from his phone where he was lounging on the sofa.  

“So why isn’t it back in the case with the rest?”  Vrek asked.

“Because I was in a hurry and I left it on the sink?”  

Vrek sighed and walked off, presumably to fetch the attachment from the bathroom.  While he was gone, Keith worked his hand out from under the drape and reached around to feel the back of his head.  It felt considerably cooler and lighter, and when he touched his fingers to it, the strands were short and prickly in a way he had never felt before.  He wondered how it looked -- the downside to doing this at home instead of a salon was that he didn’t have a mirror to check it out, but he had seen enough of Vrek’s work on Regris to trust him.  

“It looks good on you, dude.”  Regris told him, and Keith flashed him a grateful smile, relieved.  

Not long after Vrek came back with the attachment and started working on blending the fade into the longer hair on top, keys rattled in the front door and another person came in.  

“I’m home!”  The girl called out, tossing her keys into the bowl on the entryway table and pulling her long, dark hair out of the bun on top of her head as the two guys called out greetings in return.  She caught sight of Keith as she took off her shoes. “Oh, you must be Reg’s buddy, Keith? I’m Ilun. I’m also parched -- we had Mexican and I’m still feeling that super-spice sauce.” She dropped her backpack beside the couch and headed straight for the kitchen.  

“What a coincidence, we had tacos.”  Vrek hummed as he clipped a different attachment on and tipped Keith’s head forward to work on the back of his neck.  At this angle, Keith was looking directly at the backpack Ilun had set on the floor next to the couch, and he noticed the three button-pins she had attached to the front.  One read “ _ she/they… both are OK! _ ” and the other two had some pride flags on them that he didn’t quite recognize, but he could guess based on the words “ _ polyamory pride _ ” and “ _ polygender pride _ ” written around the top edge of each.  Huh.  

Before he could think more about it, though, Vrek was stepping in front of him and telling him to look straight ahead so he could do his bangs.  Glancing behind the hairdresser, he could see that Regris had rotated himself on the couch so that he was lying on the seat with his legs tossed over the back, nearly upside down, and still playing some game on his phone.  

“I gotta tell you, I wish there were more tattoo artists like your boss, Reg.”  Ilun was saying as she retrieved a cup from the cabinet near the sink. “More people need to have a policy of not tattooing drunk people.  This one guy tried to make an appointment to laser off the  _ dumbest  _ thing -- he got ‘YOLO’ across his freaking  _ ass _ \-- and boy was he  _ not  _ happy when I told him he needed to wait another few months before we could do it.  He didn’t want to live with his stupid decision long enough for the thing to even heal enough to remove it.”  

“Yeowch, laser on the ass would hurt like a bitch.”  Regris winced.  

“How would you know?  You’ve never gotten anything removed.”  Vrek asked.  

“Because I’m happy with all of mine!”  

“Even the derpy-looking dinosaur on your thigh that you did yourself when you were drunk?”  Ilun asked.  

“Excuse you, Sir Reggington is one of my fondest memories.”  Regris sniffed. “He will always stay on my thigh.”  

“You don’t remember that night at all.”  

“I know I had a good time!”

Ilun snorted and shook her head, glancing over at Keith as she opened the freezer for some ice.  “Hey, let me know if you ever want that face one off. I can get you a discount.” She told him, tapping her cheek.  

“Oh.”  Keith worked his hand out from under the drape and touched the mark on his cheek.  “It’s actually a scar. Got burned. Can you laser off scars?”  

“Ah, shit, sorry… I don’t have my glasses on, I thought it was a face tat.”  Ilun squinted from across the room. “No, sorry. You might be able to get a skin graft.  I’ve got a plastic surgeon buddy, if you even want to go that path. We sometimes end up referring our patients to him for more extreme body-mod cover-up.  I’m sure he could do a burn, if you’re interested.”  

“I don’t think so, but thanks.”  Keith said. “It doesn’t really bother me.  And that stuff’s pretty expensive, and I’m saving up for something already.”  

“Oh?  What for?”  Regris asked, still upside down and tapping away at a game on his phone.  

“Um.”  Keith swallowed.  Regris knew, but he was stealth to the other two.  But… His gaze dropped to the pride pins on Ilun’s bag -- specifically the polygender and pronouns ones.  Maybe they wouldn’t look down on him for it? He took a deep breath. “I’m saving up for top surgery.”  

“Oh, nice.”  Regris said. Vrek’s only comment was a quiet hum and a prompt to turn his head to the side a bit, obviously more focused on his task than the conversation.  

Ilun, however, whipped around, her eyes bright.  “Have you decided on a surgeon yet?”  

Not the reaction he was expecting, but at least it wasn’t negative… “Um… no?”  He was still saving his money and researching what he needed to do to get to the point where he could seriously look for a surgeon.  

“Hang on, I’ve got my guy’s card somewhere…” Ilun left her drink on the counter and rooted through a stack of paperwork on a cluttered desk in the corner.  “I got a reduction a few years ago -- small enough to hide ‘em when I want, or play it up. I have a complicated relationship with gender but I just didn’t like the boobs, ya know? -- and this buddy I know from college has a transition surgery practice now, I’ve got his card somewhere here…”

“You’d be able to find it if you kept your desk organized.”  Vrek deadpanned. He rolled his eyes with a sigh and looked to Keith.  “I live with two tornados.”

“I prefer the term ‘organized chaos’.”  Regris quipped.    

“Got it!”  Ilun turned around with a business card held aloft.  “Here you go. You don’t have to use them, but I really liked the work I got done.  And they have a deal that if your insurance is a bitch and won’t cover it, they’ll cut you a discount so you’re only paying the same price as the folks with insurance.”  

“Woah.”  Keith accepted the card.  “Thank you. I haven’t really started looking yet, but this is actually a big help.”  

“No prob!  Happy to be of service.”  Ilun shot him a wink and a finger-gun, then promptly shoved Regris’s feet off the back of the couch and sent him into a surprise somersault.

Vrek stood in front of Keith and tapped the handle of the scissors against his lips in thought, utterly ignoring the indignant spitting boyfriend and girlfriend laughing her ass off behind him.  “Alright, go take a look in the bathroom mirror and tell me if you’re happy with it. Ignore the tornados.” He told him, walking behind Keith again to unfasten the drape from around his neck and shake the loose hair to the floor to sweep up.  

Keith reached up to feel the back of his head before he even made it across the living room.  It already  _ felt  _ different than anything he had ever done to his hair, and he felt his heart quicken as a nervous sort of giddiness billowed in his chest.

The trio’s bathroom was crowded full of bottles of lotion and perfume and colognes, razors, stray hair ties and bobby pins, and a single striped sock on the bathmat, but the lights surrounding the mirror were bright, and there was another mirror hung on the outside of the door so that when it was opened into the bathroom, one could see the back of their head (presumably for doing their own hair).  Keith couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as soon as he turned on the light. He looked  _ cool _ .  He brushed his hair back, like a longer version of Regris’s loose pompadour, then off to the side like Vrek’s and bared the shaved sides, then gathered it all up into a little ponytail high at the back of his head and admired the buzzed-short back in the mirror hung on the door.  A few sharp lines were cut into the left side, starting behind his ear and curving down to the back base of his neck where they disappeared into the shortest part of the fade. Simple, but a nice, unique touch. And his bangs were back! They framed his face nicely, long enough that he could easily pin them back if he needed to for work, or let them hang around his face like he liked.  And he could already tell that the undercut would feel nice and cool when the summer heat hit.  

Keith let the rest of his hair back down and combed his fingers through it until it was to his liking.  He caught sight of the business card Ilun had given him, sitting on the edge of the counter while he had been looking at his hair, and he picked it up again to read the front and back of it.  He smiled wistfully; he would have to look into it, but this wasn’t just a step forward, it was a leap.  

Keith lifted his gaze to look at his reflection in the mirror again, his grin bright as he took in his new look.  He might have a ways to go still, but things really were finally looking up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite artists ([lordzuuko](http://lordzuuko.tumblr.com)) has a couple of pieces that inspired Keith’s haircut: [this](https://gold-leeaf.tumblr.com/post/187632292900/lordzuuko-allura-said-my-hair-was-getting-long) picture of Keith (adorable) and [this](https://gold-leeaf.tumblr.com/post/187634070630/lordzuuko-now-will-you-please-come-back-up) one of Shiro’s undercut (so cool, dude I wish I had that look). So Keith’s cut is something between those two. I don’t know, should he keep that look going forward into the sequel? Or grow it out to the look we all know and love? What do you guys think?
> 
> Sorry for the lack of updating recently; August and the beginning of September really whacked me in the face with work/IRL commitments. Hoping to get back into the swing of things again now. But I have been working on maybe 2 more chapters to add to this fic to finish it off before the sequel (I still need to finish both those chapters and most of the sequel… help)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer done got me feeling nostalgic, I say, as I post in mid-September when it's already getting cold. 🙃 To be fair, I _started_ writing this in August when the fireworks at my town's local festival had me feeling nostalgic for the 4th of July fireworks back home. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  **Chapter-specific content warnings** : bit of a warning for body dysphoria in part 2
> 
> (Also, couldn’t work it in naturally because it was never supposed to come up until I started writing this, but “Leo” is the name I decided on for Thace’s son. Given that Thace has known Kolivan for a number of years and Keith for about a year, it seems like it would have come up before, so having him say “my son Leo…” like they don’t know who that is would be weird, at this point in their relationships. He’s probably told them about him quite a lot, tbh)

Six months passed in what felt, at times, like the blink of an eye.  Keith continued to live with Kolivan, even though it took a few months to stop feeling like he was an imposition on the older man’s home.  It was nice to have someone to drink coffee with every morning, divy up the leftovers for their tupperware lunches and dinners, and drive to work together in Kolivan’s car.  The older artist still didn’t let Keith work the closing shift, saying he wasn’t about to be responsible for chronic sleep deprivation in anyone’s youth, so Keith usually took the bus back to Kolivan’s house and let himself in with the key he had been given, made a light second dinner for himself and put the leftovers in the fridge for their meals the next day, indulged in a bit of television or reading, and went to bed a few hours before Kolivan himself returned.  The routine proved to be good for Keith, who had spent so many years never knowing what the next day would bring.  

In time, the days grew longer, the weather warmed, and before they knew it, the summer heat was bearing down on their little town.  It was strange to think that six whole months had passed. The summer holidays came, bringing with them hoards of curious, out-of-school teenagers peering into the tattoo parlor’s windows, summer specials on group coffee runs, and fliers pushed through their mail slot advertising the town fireworks display.  It had been ages since he had seen the fireworks, Keith mused as he gathered up the glossy fliers and halfheartedly shooed away a couple of boys who couldn’t be more than fourteen years old, who had been hovering around the parlor’s door and whispering about tricking the artists into giving them tattoos underage (fat chance; they checked everyone’s ID, and Keith knew first-hand how untrickable Kolivan was when it came to fakes).  Even when his dad had been alive, they had often spent the holiday barbecuing at home, since there was always a chance his dad would get called into the fire station to put out some firework-related accident, and he couldn’t simply leave Keith at the fairgrounds to tend to it. They used to climb onto the roof of their house to watch them, but they were small and off in the distance, not like those fliers of happy families with faces turned up to the colorful bursts over their heads.  Keith wondered if he should go check out the fairgrounds, or just stay at home like he always did. Was it really worth it?

Thace ended up solving that question for him, leaning his hip against Kolivan’s tattoo chair one afternoon.

“Kolivan,” Thace began conversationally.  “Any plans for the third of July?”  

Kolivan looked up, blinking.  “None. I was under the impression it was the fourth that was the big holiday.”  

“It is.”  Thace said.  “But they set off fireworks on the third as well.  And Leo will be spending the fourth with his mother and her family.  I was hoping to have a small get-together on the third instead. I have a pool, you know, and it would be nice to barbecue in the afternoon and watch the fireworks in the evening.”  

“I am not very keen on crowds…” Kolivan began hesitantly.

“Nor am I.”  Thace said. “But my house is quite near the fairgrounds where they hold the fireworks.  We can see them well enough from the backyard.”  

Kolivan nodded.  “In that case, it does sound rather enjoyable.”  

Thace smiled and turned to Keith, who had been tidying the front of the shop and trying to look like he wasn’t listening in on their conversation.  “And of course, you are welcome as well, Keith.”  

Keith looked up, surprised.  “Really?”  

“Of course.”  Thace said. “We are coworkers and -- I hope -- friends, after all.  If you haven’t any other plans, I’d love for you to join us.”  

Keith’s expression softened into a grateful smile.  “Yeah, I-- thanks. For inviting me. It sounds great.”  

“Wonderful.”  Thace smiled. “I suggest you come around noon.  Traffic gets rather hectic after that, with everyone trying to get street parking for the fireworks.  I usually have to block off my driveway, but ignore that; you can park there.”  

Kolivan nodded.  “Will do. It’s been so hot out lately, an afternoon dip in the pool will be refreshing.”  

“It’s quite nice,” Thace hummed.  “I pity you for not having a pool in the summer.”

“And I pity your water bill.”

“It’s not that much--”

Keith realized something and his head jerked up.  “I. I don’t swim.” He blurted out.  

The other two turned to look at him curiously.  “You never learned?” Thace asked. His tone wasn’t unkind, just seeking clarification.  

“No, I… did.”  Keith admitted, thinking back.  The last time he had been swimming was before his dad passed away.  “I just… don’t.”  

Thace tipped his head slightly.  “Is there a reason why? There’s no need to worry about privacy -- my yard is fenced with a rather tall cinder-block wall.”  

“I don’t…” Keith floundered, unsure how to voice it, and settled on something that was kind of the problem but not really.  “I don’t have a swimsuit.” His stomach sank so heavily at admitting it that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to float in the water even if he tried.

Kolivan and Thace, however, looked relieved.  “Oh. In that case, I can give you a lift to the store.”  Kolivan offered.  

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but the bells over the shop door jingled as it opened and a client walked in.  They all went back to their tasks, and Keith tried to put his worries in the back of his head.

~~~~~~~

Keith hoped Kolivan might have forgotten about it, but the older man ended up bringing it up again as they drove home from work that night.  “I need to stop in here for a casserole dish.” Kolivan mentioned as he pulled into the parking lot of the large store. “I broke mine a while ago and I’ll need to replace it to make my planned dish for Thace’s gathering on the third.  Perhaps you can buy yourself a swimsuit while I do that, since they sell those there as well.”  

Dread settled heavily in Keith’s gut as Kolivan parked the car in the lot.  Once inside, Kolivan headed off to the kitchen section and promised to meet Keith when he finished.  The clothes took up an entire half of the large store, and swimsuits and summer clothes were right beside the doors, along with cardboard cut-outs of happy suns and pictures of people hanging out by beaches.  Keith wandered toward the lycra-filled hellscape, then veered sharply off to the side and took an unnecessarily long time looking at sunglasses and wallets in the accessories aisle. So long, in fact, that Kolivan found him there several minutes later, walking up to him with a glass casserole dish in one hand and a large bag of pretzels in the other.  

“Did you need sunglasses too?”  Kolivan asked.  

Keith slipped the cheap glasses off as quick as if they had burned him.  “No.”  

Kolivan tilted his head thoughtfully.  “Is there something bothering you, Keith?”

Keith flinched, feeling caught.  He glanced at Kolivan out of the sides of his eyes, swallowing hard.  He looked away, but that just had him looking at the swimsuits, so he turned his gaze down to his feet and the scuffed linoleum tiles underneath.  “I don’t… I don’t want to wear those. Any of those.” He admitted.

“Oh.”  Kolivan twisted his wrist to look at his watch.  “Well, it’s rather late now and this is the only place around that is still open, but you can check out some other stores on your day off this week, if you don’t see anything you like.”  

“That’s not--” Keith scrubbed his hands over his face.  He was frustrated -- with himself, with this situation, and with his body.  “I don’t want to wear _any_ of those.  One-piece, tank-whatever, god forbid a fucking _bikini_ … I’d rather let Antok tattoo my ribcage with no topical anesthetic when he’s pissed-off and heavy-handed than wear anything like _that_.”  He spat the words out like venom and glared in the direction of the swimsuits.  

Kolivan blinked, looking taken aback.  “Oh. I had assumed you’d opt for swim trunks.”  

It was Keith’s turn for confusion.  “I… can I… do that?”  

“I don’t see why not.”  Kolivan replied plainly.  “The rest of your wardrobe is fairly masculine, or at the very least, ambiguous basics like jeans and t-shirts.”  

“Well, yeah, but I usually get my clothes at second-hand stores, where there’s a lot less… gender regulation.”  Keith felt his ears grow flushed. Pants, shirts, jackets, small, medium, large… it had been quite some time since he had shopped at a store that first and foremost separated their clothing into ‘boys’ and ‘girls’.  He bought what was cheap, decent enough quality to not fall apart, generally dark-colored, and helped him pass, without considering which binary half of the store it had come from. That was why that one second-hand shop downtown was his favorite, because they organized their racks by article and size, not gender.  

Kolivan looked toward the clothing section -- pinks and whites and florals on one side, and blues and dark grays on the other.  “Perhaps this store is unnecessarily polarizing. But I don’t think the second-hand store is allowed to carry swimwear, so there’s not much that can be done there.  Why don’t you look around, since we’re here? If you still don’t see anything you like, you can browse other stores on your day off.”

“I’m still not wearing a bikini.”  Keith bristled.  

“Nor will I.”  Kolivan replied dryly.  “Frankly, Keith, I don’t know why you think you would be expected to.”  

“Because!”  Keith pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration.  “This… this isn’t just clothes. Clothes can hide a lot more than swimwear.  And how can I get away with wearing swim trunks if I haven’t had top surgery yet?  I can’t _just_ wear shorts -- one, I hate my chest, and two, there’s gonna be a ten year-old kid there!  What do I wear, a goddamn wetsuit? That _still_ wouldn’t hide anything!”  

“A t-shirt.”  Kolivan said simply.  While Keith stopped, taken aback by the obvious solution he had failed to see, Kolivan plucked a pair of sunglasses with yellow, reflective glass off the shelf and tried them on, looking contemplatively at himself in the mirror.  Strangely, the look suited him. He shrugged and took them off again, dropping them into his casserole dish with the pretzels. “I’m going to get a basket; I miscalculated my potential purchases. Shall I find you in men’s swimwear?”  He looked at Keith, expecting an answer.  

“I…” Keith glanced at the sea of blue beside the sea of pink.  Both were empty of customers at this late hour. He swallowed. “...Sure.”  

Kolivan nodded, accepting that, and left to find a shopping basket.  

Keith took a deep breath and stalked toward the faceless mannequins advertising the swimwear -- a sea of pink to one side, a sea of blue to the other.  There were five mannequins: one with only a small amount of molding to show short hair, wearing American flag-printed board shorts. Another about the same height but with more curves and a ponytail molded from the same plaster as the head, wearing a sequin-patterned bikini.  A child-sized one identical to the first aside from height, wearing colorful boxy trunks with an inflatable ring draped over one shoulder. Another, nearly identical to that, but with pigtails molded on either side of the head, and wearing a flowered one-piece and pink sandals.  And finally, a mannequin dog with a bandana bearing the store’s logo and a plastic bucket propped in its open mouth.  

All five were made of the same blank white plastic.  Faceless, with no distinguishing marks on them besides a few nicks and scrapes in the cheap exterior, and the lines where their joints could be moved.  They were just plastic. Plastic couldn’t be male or female. For that matter, neither could fabric. Why should people be? They were just flesh and bone and skin.  And Keith had learned a long time ago how to be in control of how he decorated _his_ own skin.    

Keith turned on his heel and stepped into the sea of cool colors without giving it another thought.  He flicked through the sale racks, back stiff and feeling like someone would kick him out at any moment.  But no one even approached him, until Kolivan wandered back over with a bright red shopping basket in the crook of his arm and a bag of chocolate covered peanuts in his hand as he read the back of the package.  

“You sure do get the munchies at night, don’t you?”  Keith eyed him knowingly.  

“They were located beside the shopping baskets.  No doubt a strategic marketing ploy, and I have to admit it worked.”  Kolivan said by way of explanation, dropping the snack into said basket.  “Have you found anything you like?”  

Keith held up a pair of simple, dark red board shorts that looked like they would be his size.  “I guess.” He hunted around and grabbed a plain black t-shirt to go with it.  

Kolivan hummed.  “Cotton takes a long time to dry, and is heavy when wet.  If you plan to wear it swimming, perhaps something like this would be more comfortable?”  He lifted a lightweight, athletic t-shirt off the wall rack. It was black and dark gray, with an abstract pattern of lines and waves and the bold white words _JUST DO IT_ emblazoned across the front.    

Keith took the offered shirt, but his gaze caught on a different version that was solid black with gray lettering.  That was a bit more his style. 

Kolivan must have noticed, because he shrugged.  “Pick what you like. But wet fabric has an annoying tendency to cling, and I have found that patterns do a better job than solids at hiding any… bulk, underneath.”  He patted his stomach in explanation, even though they both knew that Keith’s ‘bulk’ was higher up.  

Keith arched an eyebrow blandly.  “I’m still gonna wear my binder.”  

Kolivan tilted his head.  “Is it safe to swim in that?”  

Keith hesitated.  “I… have no idea.”  

“Look into it.”  Kolivan said. “If it is, there is no problem.  But if not, no one will fault you for wearing a sports bra or tank top instead.”  He pointedly ignored the way Keith bristled like an angry cat at that word; it was a perfectly normal article of clothing and Kolivan didn’t see why it needed to be associated with gender.  If Kolivan was more inclined to go jogging frequently (and if they made them big enough around to fit his rather barrel-like ribcage) he could see himself taking advantage of the extra support.  

Keith snatched up the dark patterned shirt and threw it over his arm with the shorts, looking murderous as he started stalking away toward the check-out area.  

Kolivan trailed after him.  “You know you don’t have to go swimming if you don’t want to.”  He pointed out. “It is meant to be an enjoyable afternoon. No one will force you to do anything.”  

“I--” Keith stopped and swallowed hard.  “I want to try.” He said, his voice quiet.  “I’m just… I’m nervous.”

“You know I nor Thace would never look down on you for anything.”  Kolivan reminded him. “We see you as a man, Keith, no matter what you wear.  Nothing will change that, unless you tell us you identify otherwise.”  

Keith worried his thumb over the cheap plastic hangers he was holding.  “I don’t know Thace’s kid.” He had heard about him, and seen the pictures Thace had hanging up near his workstation, but he had never met the kid.  

“A remarkably non-judgemental boy.”  Kolivan assured him. “After all, his father’s friends are rather alternative-looking.  If he can handle Antok’s full-body ink and Ulaz’s gauges and yellow contacts, I’m sure he can handle anything.”  

Keith thought about it, then nodded stiffly.  “Okay. Yeah. I… I can do this.” It still sounded like he was more trying to convince himself, rather than confidence, but it was a start.  

“You can.”  Kolivan told him, with a simple, plain confidence he hoped would rub off on the younger man.  “Now, after we check out, would you like to split these chocolates? I’m afraid they may melt by the time we get home.”  

Keith didn’t bother to fight off the smile that drew from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep upping the chapter count (it was supposed to end at, what... 13??) but next chapter really is the last in this part of the series. That's _it_ , I am putting my foot _down_... (who am I putting it down for? Myself?? I'm the one who keeps adding things!) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long, and I hope to see you in the sequels! (that's right, _sequels_ , plural. One little one-shot interlude, one longer-but-so-far-not-as-long-as-this-one story, and then one pretty long one-shot. Hopefully.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me, here’s my present for all of you… the final chapter of this fic! Thank you to everyone who read this story and left kudos and comments, it means a lot to me 💖 And I hope you come back for the sequels!
> 
> **Chapter-specific content warnings:** Brief dysphoria in part 1, brief discussion of PTSD in part 2, a bit of underage drinking (at 18) in the middle of part 2… and some _HECKING FEELINGS_ at the end (good ones, don’t worry)

All too soon, the city was hanging up star-spangled banners on the lamp posts along every street downtown, posters for the third and fourth fireworks were going up, and the Blades were cleaning up their shop in preparation of the well-deserved holiday after being so busy during the summer boom of business and new clients.  The third fell on a Wednesday, their typical weekly day off to keep up with the heavy traffic that came into their shop on weekends, and they were closed on the fourth like most of the other businesses in the area. This meant that Keith and Kolivan could sleep in a bit before making their dish to bring to Thace’s and getting ready to go.  

Alone in his room, Keith pulled on his binder and shoved a second one in his bag along with a change of clothes.  The dark red board shorts fit him just fine, which he was grateful for -- he had been in such a hurry to leave the store that he had neglected to try them on.  He turned to the side and eyed his reflection critically in the mirror. A binder couldn’t quite hide everything, and he was still bigger in the chest than he wanted to be, which was why he tended to hide under layers.  That worked fine for everyday life, but wouldn’t for swimming. Keith frowned and picked up the athletic shirt he had bought. It wasn’t quite a tank top, but the sleeves were much shorter than he typically wore, and he was a bit nervous that the binder would be able to be seen through the arm holes.  Suddenly he was doubting this was as good of an idea as he had thought in the store.  

He frowned down at the shirt in his hands, and the white lettering glared back up at him --  _ JUST DO IT. _   How fitting, considering the situation.  

Unwilling to dwell on it any longer, Keith pulled on the shirt, checked his profile in the mirror once more (the shirt did a decent job of hiding his chest… whether it held up when wet would remain to be seen) and grabbed his bag, heading out to the living room where Kolivan was peering into the foyer mirror while repeatedly taking his new sunglasses off and on.  

“I’m beginning to think that perhaps yellow is not my color.”  Kolivan said, frowning at himself. Keith hadn’t the faintest idea if they could be considered ‘fashionable’ or not -- they looked sporty, if anything.  The yellow glass was totally reflective, hiding his eyes completely.  

“I think they’re fine.”  Keith said. He held out his arms to the sides.  “How do I look?” Both of them were dressed quite differently than normal, and both seemed to feel a little out of their elements.

Kolivan lifted the yellow sunglasses up to look at him properly.  “Perfectly fine. Like you could use some sun, honestly.” He said, tossing him a tube of SPF 50 sunscreen.  

“You say that, yet handed me this.”  Keith arched an eyebrow.  

“I said you could use some sun, not sun damage.”  Kolivan said. “Besides, you have to take extra care of tattoos around the sun, you know that.  But we also don’t get a lot of vitamin D, hiding away in that dingy studio all day.” He let his sunglasses fall onto his face and picked up the dish holding the whip-cream-topped apple crumble in his heavily-tattooed hands.  “Come on, we don’t want to be late. Grab those beach towels, and would you lock the door behind us?”  

Keith fought the urge to laugh as Kolivan headed out the door first in his flip-flops, looking like a strange mix of road-biker and beach-goer.  

~~~~~~

They drove across town to the modest suburb where Thace lived.  His house was small but looked quite nice, with a little yard in front, chalk drawings decorating the driveway, and a basketball hoop over the garage.  He really must have been close to the fairgrounds, because both sides of the street in front of his house were packed with cars. Thace -- as well as some of his neighbors -- had blocked off their driveways with cones and rope, decorated with various hand-made signs prohibiting cars.  Keith hopped out to move one of the cones to let Kolivan pass, and noticed that Thace’s sign said ‘NO FREE PARKING’ in the same bold, stylized script the artist used in some of his tattoos and on the signs around the studio. Underneath that, in a scrawl that looked like it had been added later and with less care, read ‘NO PAID PARKING EITHER.  STOP ASKING.’  

Keith snorted quietly in amusement while he put the cone back after Kolivan was parked.  He wondered what the story behind that one was.  

It was blisteringly hot in the sun, and they quickly moved from the air-conditioned car to the shade of the front porch.  Keith, carrying less in his hands, reached out to ring the doorbell. Thace answered the door a minute later, greeting them with a grin and welcoming them into his house.    

“Leo, come say hello to our guests.”  Thace called as he shut the door behind them, and a moment later, a young kid came skidding around the corner.  Thace smiled and gestured to the two of them. “You know Kolivan already. And this is Keith. He also works with us.”

Leo’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Keith braced himself for the dreaded ‘ _ are you a boy or a girl? _ ’ question he always seemed to get from kids who were too young to have a filter.  He wasn’t expecting to hear “ _ Woah! _   Dad, I didn’t know you had any cool friends!”  

“I… what… all of my friends are cool.”  Thace sputtered, taken aback.  

“Nuh uh.  They’re all sooo old, like you.”  Leo ignored his father’s indignant squawk and turned to Keith.  “How old’re you?”  

“Eighteen?”  Keith hedged, unsure what kind of reaction that would garner.  

Leo somehow looked both amazed and vaguely disappointed.  “Oh, so like, still kinda old. But not as old as Dad.”  

“I am standing  _ right here _ , Leo.”  Thace reminded him tersely.  “And I am thirty-two, for goodness’ sake!”  

Kolivan shot Keith a pointed look that clearly told him to keep quiet about  _ his  _ age.

“Hey, Mister Keith, how many tattoos d’you have?”  Leo pointed to his arm. “That one’s cool.”

_ Mister  _ Keith…?  A strange mix of pride at passing well enough to be called ‘mister’ and bewilderment at being seen as  _ old enough _ to be called ‘mister’ went through Keith.  He held out his arm and let the kid look at his ink.  “Oh, just a few.”  

“Cool!”  Leo beamed.  “I wanna get some but Dad says I have to wait until I’m a grown-up.”  He turned to Kolivan. “How many tattoos do  _ you  _ have, Mr. K?”  

Kolivan lifted his arms and turned them over, looking at them as he considered it.  “I honestly don’t know anymore.” He admitted, sounding surprised at the realization.  

“Woah…”  Leo stared at him, wide-eyed and amazed.  

“Unless you would all like to continue standing around the front door,” Thace cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to join me in the kitchen -- I’m getting the burgers ready to grill.  Kolivan, let me take that dish and put it in the refrigerator.”  

“Can we go swimming yet?”  Leo bounced on the balls of his feet.  

“Yes, but make sure you put on sunscreen first.”  Thace said, but Leo was already running off and thundering up the stairs with an excited whoop.  Thace rolled his eyes and beckoned them to follow him further into the house.  

In the kitchen, they spent a bit of time chatting about the weather, the traffic, the shop, Leo’s school, their plans for the day… A few minutes later, Leo came darting through the kitchen wearing swim trunks and with a beach towel around his shoulders like a cape, and when Thace cast a worried look between the back patio door and his hamburger-covered hands, Kolivan stood up from his place at the table.  

“I’ll supervise.”  He said, heading for the door.

“Thank you.”  Thace breathed a sigh of relief.  “He can swim, of course, but a father’s still got to worry, you know.”

“He seems like a nice kid.”  Keith said, just as a delighted shriek and a splash echoed from the backyard.

“He’s a handful, sometimes.”  Thace chuckled.  

Feeling a little awkward sitting at the table by himself now that Kolivan had left, Keith got to his feet and offered to help Thace cook.  Together, they prepped the hamburger patties and toppings they would have later for dinner.  

“How have you been, Keith?”  Thace asked.  

Keith rolled a ball of hamburger between his palms.  Based on the way the other man’s tone had softened, he had a feeling Thace didn’t mean just since they had seen each other yesterday.  

“I’m doing okay, I think.”  He said slowly. “I’m sleeping better.  Less nightmares. I still can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to pop up behind any corner, though.  Even though I know he won’t.”  

Thankfully, Thace knew who ‘he’ was and didn’t make him explain.  “Has he tried to contact you again?”  

“Not for a couple months.”  Keith shook his head. “I’m still… I don’t know, jumpy?  Not as bad as before, but still… And I can’t tell if I’m like that because of him, or the families I was with, or if I’m just… like that.”  He let out a terse sigh through his nose and tossed a plastic-wrapped patty onto the plate. “It’s kinda frustrating how I’m not over this shit already.  Sorry, this stuff.” He amended, casting a furtive glance at the back door to make sure Leo was still out of ear-shot.  

Thace was quiet as he chopped the vegetables.  “Perhaps it’s not my place, but have you considered therapy?  And before you shoot it down, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”  

Keith snorted derisively.  “Yeah, ‘cause only sane people go to therapy.”   

“I have.”  Thace said simply.  “So has Leo.”  

Keith froze, half in surprise, half in sudden fear that he had insulted his friend.  

Thace’s expression didn’t change as he scraped some diced tomatoes into the salsa he was making.  “I thought therapy was pointless. I wouldn’t go to the couples counseling my ex-wife wanted us to try.  If I had, perhaps we would have worked out sooner that we simply aren’t compatible, and we could have saved ourselves and Leo a considerable amount of stress.  I didn’t start going until Leo’s teacher recommended it for him; it’s a good idea, for young children whose parents divorce. She had a solo session with him, then was giving me the summary and asking me about his home life, and, well… things just started coming out.  I booked a session for myself that day. It can really help, to talk about things that are bothering you. Especially if you’ve been through any kind of turmoil. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Anyone can benefit from therapy. Just keep that in mind.” He held out his hand for the last patty, still wedged between Keith’s motionless palms.  

Keith placed the patty in his hand and watched Thace set it on the plate with the rest, then take them to the refrigerator.  “I’ll… I’ll think about it.” It was a scary thought, opening up to someone else about everything that had happened in his messed-up life.  He still hadn’t fully opened up to even Kolivan about the things that had happened before he had met him, or the parts of his relationship with Sendak that he would rather keep locked away at the back of his mind.  Was he even capable of telling someone  _ everything  _ that had happened?  Was he even capable of admitting it, to himself?  

“It’s just something to consider.”  Thace reminded him gently as he nudged the refrigerator shut and handed Keith two packages of hot dogs.  “Now, could you open these while I finish the salsa? I think we’ll do hot dogs for lunch, burgers for dinner.  How’s that sound?”

Keith smiled, relieved to move on.  “Sounds good.”  

With dinner prepped, they got everything ready for lunch and brought the food outside.  Fruit salad, chips, and salsa were set out on the patio table under the shade of the umbrella, and Thace fired up the grill to cook the hot dogs.  Kolivan hauled himself out of the pool when the other two came outside, panting and muttering something about being “too damn old to best a child in an underwater handstand contest…”  He dried himself off and flopped down onto a pool lounger in the dappled half-sun, half-shade beneath a tree.  

“Feel free to swim, Keith.”  Thace called as he fiddled with setting up the grill.  “I myself was planning on taking a dip after lunch.”  

Keith kicked his flip-flops off and sat down on the sun-heated concrete at the edge of the pool, dipping his feet and calves in.  Leo pushed off the far end of the pool and swam over to him. “You gonna swim, Mr. Keith?” He asked, propping his elbows up on the edge.    

“I don’t know how much swimming I’ll do, but it’s nice to just sit here.”  Keith let his feet swing through the cool water.  

Leo shrugged and slipped his goggles over his eyes again.  “Well, if you’re not gonna swim, can you throw these? I wanna see how many I can collect before they hit the bottom of the pool.”  He upended a treasure chest-shaped bucket of plastic gemstones, fake gold coins, and a few odd torpedoes and sharks onto the concrete beside Keith.  

Keith blinked, surprised that there weren’t any other prying questions.  “Oh. Uh, sure. Like, one at a time, or…?”

“All of ‘em!”  Leo declared with the sort of brazen overconfidence only a child his age could whole-heartedly believe.

They spent nearly an hour like that -- Thace frowning over the grill like he wasn’t used to using his own appliance, Kolivan reclining on a lounge chair, and Keith tossing handfuls of plastic treasure and torpedoes over the water for Leo to retrieve.  Once the kid declared he had beaten his record of snatching up ten items before they sank to the bottom, he took a break and propped his arms up on the concrete beside the pool, arranging the dive toys into little piles.  

His eyes slid over to Keith’s arm again.  “So what’s it mean?” He asked, pointing to the tattoo.  

Keith was used to that question.  He was pretty sure anyone with a tattoo was.  By now, he had developed a concise answer to give that didn’t bring up too many sad memories with it.  “It’s to help me remember my mom.”  

Usually, that was enough to stop any other questions.  The young child didn’t seem to have developed the ability to read between those particular lines, though.  “Why d’you need help remembering her?” He asked, eyes wide and innocent.

Keith swirled his feet through the water.  “She died. A long time ago.”  

“Oh.”

Keith hummed quietly.  It was funny -- ever since he got his tattoo, it didn’t hurt quite so much to think of his mother.  It did still hurt, but the overwhelming loss that had come from not having anything to remember her by had been soothed just a bit, now that he could always carry a piece of her on his skin.  

Leo was busying himself with trying to shove as many plastic gold coins into the rubber shark’s mouth as he could.  “What about your dad?”

Keith watched his toes point and flex under the clear surface of the water.  “He died a while ago too. When I was about your age.” He explained.  

“Oh.”  Leo sank a little deeper into the water, looking abashed.  His eyes flicked over to Keith again before long, though. “Do you have a tattoo for him, too?”

“Not yet.”  Keith shook his head.  “Still deciding what would represent him best.”  He  _ was  _ still planning his father’s tattoo, but he likely wouldn’t be able to get it any time soon.  Tattoos were expensive -- he valued his friends’ work enough to not ask them for a discount -- and he was saving for top surgery.  He was sure his father would understand that. He had ten years of memories with his dad, and wasn’t as worried about forgetting him as he was his mom.  

“Did Mr. K adopt you?”  

The question shocked Keith out of his thoughts, and he looked at the boy.  “What?”

Leo pointed to Kolivan, who seemed to have dozed off on his lounge chair.  It was a little hard to tell, actually, since the yellow reflective surface of his sunglasses hid his eyes.  He was snoring quietly, though, and had a beach towel draped over him like a blanket.  

Keith was still processing the question when Leo went on.  “My best friend is adopted, ‘cuz he didn’t have parents either.  He was from South Korea but now he lives, like, a block away from me.  So did Mr. K adopt you?”  

Keith laughed.  “No, no. He’s my boss.  Your dad’s boss, too.”  

“He seems like a cool boss.”  Leo said.

“He is pretty cool.”  Keith smiled.  

Leo leaned on the concrete and reached for a couple of the tie-dye torpedo toys.  He tossed them into the pool, but didn’t dive after them. “Hey, how’d you get that scar on your arm?”  He asked, with the kind of genuinely innocent curiosity only a child could exhibit.  

Ah.  

Keith tilted his arm to look at it.  It was healed, but still quite noticeable.  Ulaz wanted him to wait another few months before beginning any cover-up work on it, and he still had to work out a budget to work with his top surgery funds.  

“Mm.  Got in a fight.”  Keith said, simplifying it greatly for the child watching him with wide eyes.  

“Woah…” Leo stared at him in awe.  “With who?”

Keith thought about what he could say, given his audience.  “A bully.” He decided. He almost wanted to chuckle; that’s really what it boiled down to, didn’t it?  

Leo nodded sagely.  “Bullies are stupid.  This kid Michael was being mean to some girls in my class, so I spit on his bike.”  He whispered it, then fervently looked over his shoulder to make sure his dad was still occupied at the grill.  “Don’t tell Dad.” He whispered.

Keith fought back a smile and tapped his lips.  He didn’t think that necessitated tattling -- it sounded fairly harmless.  “Don’t go fighting bullies, though. You could get in trouble, or hurt.” He wasn’t about to be responsible for Thace’s kid getting punched on the playground.  

Leo’s eyes fell to the scar again.  “So… did you win?”  

“Win?”

“The fight?”  

Keith paused to think about it.  “I don’t really know.” He admitted.  “It wasn’t really the kind of fight that anyone can ‘win’, to be honest.”  

Leo tilted his head, looking confused by that.  Thankfully, before he could ask any other questions, Thace called out that the food was ready, and asked them all to come help bring out the plates and silverware from the kitchen.  

They ate dinner around the patio table as the sun set over the fence, slowly bathing the backyard in warm tones of red and pink that deepened as the evening went on.  Kolivan and Thace amused everyone with stories from their apprentice days, and Keith laughed so much his sides hurt. They cut into the apple crumble Kolivan and Keith had brought for desert and paired it with vanilla ice cream from Thace’s freezer.  Keith couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten this much.

After they finished eating and cleaned up the food and dishes, Thace vetoed Leo’s suggestion to go swimming again, at least for another hour after eating.  Instead, the four of them ended up kicking a soccer ball around in the small grassy part of the yard that wasn’t taken up by the pool. They tried to play two-on-two, but Kolivan and Keith quickly got their asses handed to them; it was clear that Thace had spent a considerable amount of time playing with his son and helping him practice.  It was still quite fun just to kick the ball around, though, and a nice way to pass the time until evening began to fall.  

They grabbed drinks from inside after their soccer match.  Thace had prepared two pitchers of home-made sangria that afternoon -- one with alcohol and one without, so his son could enjoy it as well (“but  _ only  _ from the green pitcher.  If I find out you took some from the white pitcher, you’re grounded for eternity.  You hear me, young man?”)  

Keith took a sip from the glass he had been handed and was surprised to taste the faint tang of alcohol.  He met Thace’s eyes and didn’t say anything, but simply cocked an eyebrow at the artist who was normally a beacon of upright morals and all things law-abiding.  

“It’s a holiday, and you’re an adult.”  Thace shrugged. “If you can get inked and fill out your own tax forms, you can handle a bit of wine -- don’t try and tell me you haven’t, before.  There isn’t even that much in it.”

Keith’s lips quirked up in a smile.  “Guess you are a ‘cool dad’ after all…” He said, taking another sip.

“Only to those I’m not legally responsible for.”  Thace said, pouring himself a glass. He held up the pitcher thoughtfully.  “I’m not sure it’s even  _ possible  _ to get drunk off of this much, especially split between the three of us.”  He mused.

As the sky over them grew darker, they relaxed on the patio and chatted while Leo amused himself catching fireflies.  A sharp series of pops drew their attention, and they looked over just in time to see a burst of red and gold light up the night sky.  They were close enough to the fairgrounds to hear the cheers of the people watching as the fireworks display got started, but had the benefit of a private backyard.  Only the lowest-flying firecrackers were obscured by the fence and surrounding houses, but they didn’t mind, considering they were getting a free show. Thace shot down Leo’s proposal to climb onto the roof for a better view, but he did pull out an inflatable raft and toss it into the pool as a fun alternative.  Leo instead decided to alternate between watching the fireworks from the edge of the pool and diving under the water to watch the sky light up from below the surface. Keith climbed onto the raft, because it looked like fun and he heard Thace grumble something about “efforts going unappreciated…” In any case, it was quite relaxing to watch the fireworks while floating in the water.  

After the last pops had faded into silence and all that was left was the smoke being carried away by the wind and the distant applause of the people at the fairgrounds, Thace ushered his son into the house to take a shower and get ready for bed.

“I wish we would go to the fairgrounds so I could stay up later…” Leo pouted as he hauled himself out of the pool.  

“That is precisely why we don’t.”  Thace dropped a beach towel over his head, turning his son into a rainbow-colored ghost.  “That, and more amenities and fewer crowds.”  

Leo wrapped the towel around himself like a cape and looked back at Keith.  “Hey Mr. Keith, do  _ you  _ have a bedtime?”  

“Nope.”  Keith smiled wryly.  “I’m eighteen.”  

“I can’t wait til I turn eighteen.  I’m gonna get tattoos and stay up as late as I want!”  Leo declared.

“Yes, yes, but you’re quite a ways off.”  Thace ruffled his wet hair. “No go wash off that chlorine, and then off to bed.  And no video games this late at night -- your mom is picking you up early tomorrow.”  

Leo pouted half-heartedly at the mention of no video games, but ultimately relented without much complaint.  It was clear he and Thace had a good relationship. He bid them all goodnight and went into the house with his dad.  

Keith chuckled as he watched the two of them disappear into the house.  “He seems like a good kid.” He mused aloud. “Thace has done a good job.”  

“He is.”  A quiet splash behind him indicated that Kolivan had climbed into the pool.  “And he has. He has worked hard to be able to raise his son and continue to be a core part of his life after the divorce.”  

Keith hummed thoughtfully and pushed his toes against the concrete edge of the pool, rotating his raft a little to look at Kolivan treading water at the other end of the pool.  “Thace is pretty young to be divorced.” He commented. “You know, despite his kid insisting that he’s ‘ _ sooo old _ ’.  Thirty-two is pretty young to be married, let alone divorced with a ten year-old kid.”  

Kolivan’s lips lifted wryly at the memory of that ‘ _ sooo old _ ’ conversation.  “He used to make a fair number of rash decisions when he was younger.  I would say ‘just look at his ink’, but he tends to keep the really shoddy, drunk-decision ones under his clothes, or has covered them up over the years.”  He looked back toward the house. “His marriage -- and, though he would never say it now, Leo himself, as he was the reason for it -- were a few more of the rash decisions of his youth.  He has grown very mature in the past decade, if I am being honest. The Thace who wandered into Daibazaal Ink at three in the morning high on weed and looking to get his nipples pierced is… well, perhaps the core of his personality is the same, but he has mellowed out and grown up quite a bit.  One could even say that Leo has perhaps helped Thace grow up just as much as Thace has helped Leo grow up, if in different ways.”  

Keith’s mouth fell open in shock.  He whipped around to look at the house again, then back at Kolivan.  “ _ Thace has his nipples pierced?! _ ” He asked in a hissed whisper.  

Kolivan laughed.  “Not anymore.” He pushed off from the tile wall and started swimming laps across the pool.  

Keith watched him idly, letting his leg hang off the raft and swirl through the water in lazy circles.  When the raft drifted into the center of the pool, Kolivan opted to dive down and swim under him, rather than going around.  In the pale glow of the light at the end of the pool, with his ink painting dark patterns across his arms, shoulders, back, and legs, and his long white hair fanning out behind him, he looked like a mythical orca-merman.  Keith watched him break the surface a short ways away, wipe the water out of his eyes, and swim back to tread water beside him, leaning his arms on the inflatable raft near Keith’s feet.  

“You know, it’s been nearly a year since you wandered into my shop.”  Kolivan reminded him quietly. “I’d say you’ve done a considerable amount of growing up in that time, too.”  

Keith thought back on it.  He hadn’t realized that was true -- it had been towards the end of this month last year that the worry of his impending ejection from his foster home became too heavy over his head, and he had spotted that fated ‘HELP WANTED’ sign in the studio window.  “Maybe your shop just has that effect on people.” He said.

Kolivan let out a sound caught between a chuckle and a hum of agreement.  He grew quiet for a few moments, both of them watching the way the moonlight reflected and wavered across the surface of the water.  

“I dearly hope I am not overstepping my bounds in saying this,” Kolivan started, his voice soft.  “But you… Keith, I’ve watched you change so much in the past year. The past half a year, even. And in some ways… I wish you hadn’t needed to.  But in others -- many others -- I’m proud of the man you’ve become. I’m proud of you, Keith.”  

A strange, foreign emotion swelled in Keith’s chest.  He couldn’t quite identify it, and it was so powerful that it hurt but in such a good way.  The corners of his eyes prickled uncomfortably and he swiped a hand across them, hoping he could blame any dampness on the pool water.  “I-- yeah. Um. Yeah, no, not overstepping.” He took a deep, shuddery breath to quell the warm ache in his chest. “Thank you. Really.”

Kolivan uncrossed the arms he had propped up on the raft so he could reach out and gently squeeze Keith’s ankle.  A warm, steady support, without being too much.  

Keith rubbed his palms over his face, letting out a weak chuckle.  “Fuck, I-- I don’t want Thace to think I was crying… His party was really fun, and I don’t want him to think I was sad or anything...” 

“Shall I flip you into the water to disguise it?”

Keith froze and lowered his hands to look at him.  Kolivan blinked back at him impassively. “You wouldn’t.”  Keith said.

The corner of Kolivan’s lip twitched.  “I might.” While Keith stared at him, trying to decide if he was serious or not, Kolivan dunked his arms under the water to seize the bottom of the raft.  “You might want to close your mouth and eyes.”  

“You--! Ack!”  Keith let out a yelp as the raft was lifted at one side and tossed him into the water.  He surfaced laughing and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.  

“You,” Keith tried to look stern but probably failed based on the shit-eating grin he received, “are a child.”  

“I beg to differ.  I’ve been informed I fall into the category of ‘ _ sooo old _ ’...” Kolivan smirked.

Keith smacked the surface of the water at an angle to send a splash of water at the senior tattooist, who promptly ducked under the surface to avoid the spray and pushed off the bottom to glide to the other end of the pool.  

“Oh no you don’t-- get back here!”  Keith swam after him and sent another burst of water his way when he surfaced, successfully soaking him (well, more than he already was).  

Their water battle was interrupted by Thace storming out the back door, glaring daggers at the two of them.  “I  _ just  _ convinced Leo to go to bed, and you two are out here causing a ruckus and making him want to come outside again!”  He hissed at them. He picked up an inflatable beach ball and chucked it at them. “Stop that!”  

“You’re really just fanning the flames, you know.”  Keith pointed out, while Kolivan grabbed the ball and tossed it to Keith.

Thace crossed his arms and tapped a bare foot against the concrete.  From this angle, Keith could see he had a skull inked on the bottom of his foot, probably a left-over from that ‘rash decision-filled youth’ Kolivan had mentioned.  Especially since Keith had heard Thace say that the only way to bear the pain of a foot tat was to, quote, ‘ _ be drunk into a stupor or high off one’s rear end’ _ ...  Keith wondered which category Thace had been in when he got it.  

“It is late and I do have neighbors, you know.”  Thace hissed impatiently.  

Keith smirked and tossed the ball back to Kolivan, who promptly spiked it into Thace’s face.  

“Oh yes, very mature.”  Thace seized the ball and stalked away.  “I’m putting the sangria away, so if you want to finish it off, you’ll have to come out of the pool.”  

Kolivan and Keith shared a look, then headed for the side of the pool to get out.  They snuck up behind their unsuspecting friend, and Keith snatched the pitcher away while Kolivan hefted him up and tossed him into the pool with an almighty splash.  Thace’s outburst was drowned out by two more splashes as first Kolivan and then Keith (after setting the pitcher on the table) jumped in as well.  

The following splash battle wasn’t long, but it was quite fun.  Thace even eventually loosened up and let Keith climb onto his shoulders so they could have a shot at using their combined height to successfully dunk Kolivan.  They only stopped when a light turned on in the backyard of Thace’s neighbor’s house and they heard voices complaining about noise, whereupon they stood in the water muffling their giggles and shushing each other until the neighbors went back inside.  

They toweled off and sat around the patio table to finish off the last of the sangria and drip-dry a bit in the warm summer night air, then cleaned up and got changed so Kolivan and Keith could drive back.  The fireworks had ended hours ago, and most of the crowd from the fairgrounds had dispersed and taken their cars with them, so there was little traffic as they started the drive back. A day in the sun and the good exercise of swimming had tired Keith out, and he was leaning his elbow on the car window and fighting off sleep as they drove home.  

_...Home. _   He hadn’t even realized he had started calling it that.  Somewhere along the line, during the seven months he had been living with Kolivan, it had stopped being “Kolivan’s house”.  It was  _ their _ house.  It was home -- the first place he could truly call home since his father died.  He felt safe, and welcome, and like he was actually  _ wanted _ there, not just a burden who was in the way.  Just like he felt he had a little place of his own in the shop, he felt that same kind of security and belonging in the house that Kolivan had opened to him all those months ago.  He hadn’t, at first; just like he had viewed his job as simply a way to make money, he had gone into this believing that Kolivan would soon tire of him and ask him to leave. He had made himself as small as possible, trying hard not to take up too much space in Kolivan’s house -- in his life.  But eventually… he had unfurled just a bit, and poked his head out of the protective shell he had hardened around himself. He gradually let all those jagged, broken pieces of his heart that he had hidden away for so many years be exposed, and every time, was met with only warmth, and patience, and understanding.  Sometimes it still stunned him, just how much this felt like… like having a family.  

Keith remembered what Leo had asked him before, when they were sitting by the pool.  “Hey,” Keith opened his eyes and glanced at Kolivan in the driver’s seat. “What… what am I, to you?”  

He wondered, even as he said it, if he was going too far.  If asking the question -- speaking this thing aloud -- would draw attention to it that might snuff it out.

Kolivan tilted his head contemplatively as he drove.  “That’s an interesting question.” He said carefully. “On the surface, you are my employee and coworker.  You are my friend. And you are my housemate.” He reached for the turn signal, letting the  _ click-click-click-click _ fill the silence for a moment before he turned onto their street and continued speaking.  “I told you once that I see myself in you. That is also true. You are a sort of… second chance, if you will.  A chance for me to be the sort of person I never had when I was your age, and a chance to see  _ you  _ have the second shot at life that I had to struggle to attain on my own.  Frankly, Keith, you… you’ve given my life more meaning in the past year than I have felt in decades.  You’re very important to me.”  

Ah, there was that strange emotion again, swelling up in his chest.  Pressing his heart into his throat and making it hard to breathe. Keith blamed it on all the exposure to sun that day.  His only consolation was that he could hear that same emotion in Kolivan’s voice, too.

Kolivan let out a soft huff of laughter as he went on.  “Thace has accused me of taking up a fatherly role with you.”  

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, then.”  Keith muttered, biting back a wry grin. “Leo asked if you adopted me.”

Kolivan chuckled, then grew more subdued again.  “In truth, though, I have no desire for you to view me as your father.  You  _ have  _ a father, even if he is not here on Earth anymore.  He still has a very integral place in your heart, and I would never want to change that.  I myself have a… complicated relationship with the notion of fatherhood, as you know.” His voice turned bitter for a moment, then he sighed.  “The closest term I can come up with is that I see you as…  _ like _ family.  Perhaps not through blood, but something different.  Something stronger, that we both found, after we lost our respective blood families.”  

Keith looked down at the tattoo on his arm.  The first one he had gotten, done by Kolivan’s hand, in a show of trust that he had never allowed anyone else until then. The one that Sendak had tried so hard to destroy, but even he couldn’t erase what was there -- not the ink, and not the trust that it symbolized.

Kolivan pulled into the driveway and put the car into park.  “I’m afraid I haven’t really answered your question, have I?”  

Keith hummed thoughtfully.  “I don’t know. I think… I think that pretty much sums it up.”  

“We didn’t determine a word to describe our relationship.”  Kolivan pointed out.  

“Like family.”  Keith nodded decisively.  “That’s good enough. I like it.” 

Kolivan smiled.  A soft, warm curve of his lips that reached his eyes.  “I like it, too.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~FIGHTS BACK THE TEARS THAT POPPED UP WHILE WRITING THIS AND COMBATS THEM WITH HUMOR~~
> 
> Keith, doing fingerguns: “you can call me anything except ‘late for dinner’...”
> 
> Kolivan, neck-deep in a profession that practically by default keeps extremely late hours: “...I am usually the one who is late for dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it (^_^) I just realized this is the longest fic I've written, by far, so thank you for sticking with me on this journey (58K?? Holy fuckioli...) There will be a few more sequel fics in this series (not nearly as long as this first one, nor as angsty), so please stick around! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies25](https://bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies25.tumblr.com/) (please note the URL change, apparently my old bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies got shadow-banned because tumblr _decided to BAN FUN._ ). Still posting non-NSFW fandom things on [gold-leeaf](https://gold-leeaf.tumblr.com/) as well. I'm still trying to get used to twitter, but I'm on there as @GoldLeeaf, and on pillowfort as gold-leeaf.


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